r 







\ 



Y^,^^ ///- - "^^ Z^-^--'--- 



// 




•-^^1 



Blue Grass 
Ballads and 
Other Verse 

By William Lightfoot Visscher 

Author of PETER VANSANT— HARP OF 
THE SOUTH— BLACK MAMMY- 
CARLISLE OF COLORADO— WAY 
OUT YONDER, ETC., ETC. 



CHICAGO: 

COLVIN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1900 






t ^ 






j«Sf ^ 






Copyright jgoo 
By William Lightfoot Visscher 



r 



To my dear and true friends 
MR. AND MRS. W. F. HALL 
of Chicago, this book is inscribed 
with love and gratitude. 

W. L. V. 



Contents 



Blue Grass Ballads — 
Kentucky .... 
Songs of Long Ago . 
When the Corn's Laid By 
My Own Kentucky Girl 

Ike 

A Song for Tennessee 
When Ben Brush Won the 

Derby 

Balcazar 

The Rifle in the Hall . 
New Ground 
The Fee' Lark's Song . 
Our Cabin .... 
My Mother's Portrait . 
A Love Song . 
Down at the Rocky Spring 
The Old Grindstone 
On Next Court Day 
Waiting for the Call 
Fetch Over the Canoe 
A Summer Night . 
Songs We Used to Sing 
Old-Time Melodies 
Lucie Lee of Tennessee 
In Mississippi Woods 
Dancing in the Old Time 
The Kentuckian's Lament 
Down South 
Old Mart an' Me . . 



II 

12 

13 
15 
17 
19 

20 
22 
23 

25 
26 
27 
29 
30 
32 

34 
36 
37 
39 
41 
42 

45 
46 

47 
48 

50 
52 

54 



Harp of the South . 

In Mexico. . 

Christmas in the Ole Time 

When the Julep's Ripe 

Other Verse — 

The Governor's Violin 

The Barbarian . 

Here's to You, My Brother 

Refugium .... 

A Critic's Reward . 

Mount of the Holy Cross 

Baby's Morning 

The Gourd Beside the 
Spring .... 

A Little Shoe . . 

Sandy McCann . 

Chiquita, La Bonita 

My Mother's Wedding Ring 

The Poet King 

The Coming Master 

Cando .... 

A Modern Temple. 

Castelar .... 

Renaissance . 

Easter LiUes and Easter 
Bells .... 

Two Revels 

Give Us, O ! God, to Know 

Mistletoe .... 

" Buffalo Bill," A Knight 
the West .... 



of 



57 

59 
60 

63 

67 
69 

70 
72 

73 
74 
75 

76 
77 
78 
80 
82 

83 
84 

85 
87 
92 

95 

100 
102 
104 

105 

106 



The Modern Steed . . 

The Storm King . . 

Bohemia's Rest. 

A Gentleman . 

Don't Saw Yourself Off of 

a Limb .... 
One More Valentine 
On the Summer Sea 



III 

"3 
114 
118 

119 
121 
123 



Be Fair and Just, My Son 125 

Go Easy 126 

Two Dead 127 

The Tiger's Cub . . .128 
Jim Marlinspike . . .131 
A Memory and a Tear . 134 
His Angel Slept . .136 

The Woman of the Moon 138 

A Talisman 139 

Chicago 139 

Songs of War and Peace — 

The Dove 157 

The Other End of War . 158 

Battle 161 

War 164 

The Anglo-Saxon Way .164 
Blue and Gray are One . 168 

All in Gray 169 

The Regimental Flag . .170 
Rhoda Ragland . . .172 

" Le Reve" 176 

Daughters of America . 177 
A Song of Peace . . .178 
A Song of Thanksgiving . 179 
"Old Glory" . . . .180 



Negro Dialect Verses — 
In the Fall of the Year . 183 
Rosie's Sunday Clothes . 185 
If I Could Live as Long as 

Methusalum . . . .187 
There's No Little Coon 

Like Mine . . . .188 

C awn- Pone an' Greens . 190 

You Can Nevah Make a 
White Man from a Coon 191 

His Bracer in the Morning 192 
I'm a King an' I w'ars de 

Crown 194 

All Day on Lawd's Day . 196 
How Ephum Won a Gun . 1 97 
Sandy's Sunday Shirt . .199 
Jaw-Bone Talk .... 200 
" Dem Skeeters " . . .201 
Tell Me, Honey . . . 202 

Fo' Dey Set de Darkies 

Free ... . . 204 

Hard Times GwineAway . 205 

Zoe's Plea 207 

The Dinner Horn . . . 207 
My Alabama Rose . . . 209 
Rambo's Serenade . . .210 

Loo, John 212 

A 'Possum Song . , .213 
Hear dem Niggahs Singin' . 215 
Sony for the Lord . . .216 
Jube's Old Yaller Dog . 217 
Old Cato's Creed . . . 218 
Some Singin' .... 220 
Juley Ann 221 



Blue Grass Ballads 



Proefyi 



In the evening of a lifetime ^ 

While the shadows^ growing longy 
Fall eastward f and the gloaming 

Brings the spell of vesper song, 
Fond memory tiir7is backward 

To the bright light of the day, 
Where joys, like troops of fairies, 

Gaily dance along the way, 
Full-armed with mirth and music, 

Driving skirmishers of care 
Howling, back into the forest, 

And their dark, uncanny lair. 

So the pastures of Kentucky, 

And the fields of Tennessee, 
The bloom, of all the SoutJdand 

And the old-time melody; 
The vales, arid streams, and tnountains; 

The bay of trailirig hoimds; 
The neigh of blooded horses 

And the farm-yard' s cheery sounds; 
The smiles of wholesome women 

And the hail of hearty men, 
Come sweeping back, infancy. 

And, behold, Tm. young again. 



Blue Grass Ballads 



KENTUCKY. 



From where Big Sandy tumbles down 

Its sources in the mountains 
Of West Virginia, and is fed 

By crystal brooks and fountains, 
Until it joins the graceful sweep 

Of broad Ohio's waters. 
That wash the strong and shapely feet 

Of three beloved daughters 
Of fair Columbia, and join 

The great and murky river, 
That sweeps old Tennessee's rich banks, 

Where water lilies quiver, 

I love you, dear Kentucky. 

I love your woods and verdant hills. 

And every stream and farm-land. 
For to your sons, dear mother state. 

Your every rood's a charm-land ; 
No fairer women in the world. 

Nor braver men are living. 
To bless the places whence they go 

Than those that you are giving. 



12 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

And for your strong and loving ways, 
Your happy homes and graces, 

Your sons are zealous that your name 
Shall hold the highest places. 

And love you, dear Kentucky. 

Oh, may you live ten thousand years 

In all your strength and beauty. 
And may your sons cling close to you 

In loyal love and duty ; 
And may your fields be ever fair 

And all your sorrows lightest. 
While all your joys shall grow apace, 

The sweetest and the brightest ; 
May Peace and Plenty live with you, 

Through all the coming ages, 
And ever pure your history be 

In all its shining pages. 

As our love, Kentucky. 



SONGS OF LONG AGO. 

List to the song of the old-time South, 
Come like a ghost tonight, 

'Rayed in the bloom of the dear loved land. 
And in a gown of white. 

A belle of the old-time strikes the keys, 
And melody is here, 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 13 

Clad in the songs of the dear old days, 
Remembered with a tear. 

The days when men were gallant and true. 

In court and field and hall, 
When word of a friend was word of a host, 

And truth was all in all. 

Dance, in the gray of the curtained room, 

Old melodies, and cast 
Your shadows 'long the ivory keys, 

Where she invokes the past. 

Then glide away, as the light grows bright 

Within the blazing room, 
But leave the scent of your lilies here. 

And Memory's soft perfume. 



WHEN THE CORN'S LAID BY. 

Thar's lots er things I'm gwine ter do, 

When the corn's laid by ; 
I'll hunt the shade and hug it, too, 

When the corn's laid by. 
I'll set down by the crick an' fish, 
An' mebbe I will git my wish, 
Thet one I know w^ll come and say : 
" Now hain't it good to see the day 
When the corn's laid by.? " 



14 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

An' mebbe she will set by me, 

When the corn's laid by, 
An' lean her head agin my knee. 

When the corn's laid by, 
An' talk so mighty pert an' sweet 
Thet hit will be the finest treat — 
An' mebbe then, 'at she'll agree 
To what I axed — well, we will see, 
When the corn's laid by. 

Then mebbe she'll come home with me, 
When the corn's laid by, 

An' live beneath the old roof-tree, 
When the corn's laid by. 

In fact, I 'spect she'll be my wife 

To love an' cherish all my life. 

An' re'ly I could never ask 

A better or a sweeter task. 
When the corn's laid by. 

Yes, I will have a heap er fun. 
When the corn's laid by ; 
For then the rest of fall's begun, 

When the corn's laid by. 
The work will jis be harvestin' 
An' fillin' every empty bin. 
To feed the folks, an' cattle, too. 
An' arm old Father Winter thoo, 
When the corn's laid by. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 15 

Another thing I'm gwine to do, 

When the corn's laid by ; 
I'm gwine ter lick that Hogan crew, 

When the corn's laid by. 
Ef 'twarnt for losing, from the plow, 
A day — er mo' — I'd do it now, 
An' so I reckin I kin wait, 
For sholy hit woan be too late, 

When the corn's laid by. 



MY OWN KENTUCKY GIRL. 

Young Cupid's bow is modeled 

By the curve of that sweet mouth. 
And her breath is like the perfume 

Of the breezes from the south ; 
Her hair is fair and golden, 

And her eye is clear and blue ; 
Her laugh is rippling, richest wine ; 

Her heart is fresh and true. 

She comes to meet me, flying. 

And her welcome's like the spring, 
With smiles and tears of gladness, 

And she makes my old heart sing. 
'Tis light and life to meet her. 

And there's chaste and perfect bliss 
When she lifts her face and gives me 

A daughter's sweetest kiss. 



16 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

Oh ! how lovingly she leads me 

Thro' old-time homestead halls, 
And halts where pictured faces 

Of dead loved ones, on the walls 
Look down and smile upon us, 

And give their welcome, too, 
While 'cross my face the shadow flies 

Of grief that comes anew. 

But come the days and go the days. 

And we are happy there, 
For I love to watch those eyes of blue 

And kiss the sunny hair ; 
And I'm proud to see her spring upon 

Her mettled thoroughbred. 
And gallop through the woodlands, 

Where the blue-grass carpet's spread. 

She is blithe and bright and winsome. 

But there will come a day 
When some lover of another kind 

Will spirit her away, 
By the spell that wins these dear ones — 

Aye, even such a pearl 
As this, my old heart's sweetheart ; 

My own Kentucky girl. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 17 

IKE. 

Ike's hat was made of plaited straw, 

An' 'peared a good size stack, 
Ez it flopped about his shoulders, 

An' meandered down his back ; 
His shirt was common fact'ry, 

An* his britches was of jeans, 
An' him, a long an' ganglin' cuss, 

Jis outen of his teens. 

I think it was, in common, 'lowed, 

Et Ike could hoe mo' cawn, 
An' worm an' top mo' 'backer, 

Fo' the blowin' of the hawn. 
En any man yan side the crick, 

Fur miles an' miles aroun'. 
An' yit, you sildom seed him here, 

Er loafin' 'bout the town. 

He never 'lowed whut he could do, 

But went an' done it fus, 
An' anyone could josh him, lots. 

An' not ezpect a muss. 
He was peaceful as er sack er oats, , 

An' some was 'clined to say. 
He was light about the livah — 

Er sorter thater way. 



18 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

'Twuz late along one summer time — 

We'd all laid by ow cawn- 
A lot of us was loafin' 'roun', 

An' some was sorter gone, 
On rock-en-rye, an' sich like truck, 

Fum outen Nagle's sto'. 
When a feller, jis 'bout six-foot-two, 

Comes stalkin' in the do.' 

He wo' a pa'r er navy guns. 

En a knife, I think, er two. 
An' he 'lowed a mighty heap er things, 

'Bout all that he could do. 
Well, I kep' on a layin' back, 

An' didn' aim to rise — 
I hadn' lost no fightin' man — 

Eespeshly of his size. 

The feller 'lowed he'd come out here 

To run the place awhile. 
Then take the pootyiss gal an go, 

Ez that was 'bout his style. 
He hadn' mo' than said it, good 

Tell Ike lit inter him, 
An' the wuss licked man I evah seed 

Was that gun-loadened slim. 

Ike swep' the flo' an' road with him, 
An' thowed him crost some logs. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS I9 

Then tuck his guns, an' shot 'em off, 

An' flung 'em to the hogs, 
En tuck his knives an hacked the blades. 

Tell they was only saws. 
An' sence that day, the word of Ike 

Has ben ow statoot laws. 



A SONG FOR TENNESSEE. 

A hundred years, dear Tennessee ; 

A hundred years and one, 
Among the sisterhood of states, 

And duties nobly done ; 
Yet never shone a brighter smile 

Upon a fairer face 
Than thine, proud daughter of the South, 

Nor one of sweeter grace. 

So here's to thee, 

Dear Tennessee, 
Far famed in song and story ; 

And may you be 

Forever free, 
And clothed in love and glory. 

A hundred years, dear Tennessee, 

Of honor, worth and truth ; 
A hundred years, and you have grown 

In strength and rosy youth ; 



20 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

The summers come and smiling go, 
And leave the gentle trace 

Of health and joy, and beauty's glow 
Upon thy wholesome face. 

A hundred years, dear Tennessee, 

And may ten thousand more 
Bring all the wealth of happiness 

That they may have in store. 
To thee and thine, oh, lovely one ! 

So shall thy children sing 
A psalm of praise, a song of love, 

And make thy mountains ring. 



WHEN BEN BRUSH WON THE DERBY. 

No fairer, brighter, softer day. 
Had old Kentucky seen in May ; 
The track was fast, the betting bold. 
And eager every three-year-old ; 
The quarter stretch was packed, alive, 
By men, like bees within a hive ; 
The grand stand seemed a vast bouquet 
Of handsome women, bright and gay, 
Of brilliant dress, and with the fair 
Were gallant men, beside them there, 
When Ben Brush won the Derby. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 21 

From far and near, on Churchill Downs, 
Had gathered folk from farms and towns 
From river craft and camp and fort 
To revel in the royal sport. 
Where, under saddle, spur and lash 
And flying like a lightning flash, 
The colts and fillies fought to win 
New glory for their breed and kin. 
Thus proudly came the game array. 
Upon that lovely day in May, 

When Ben Brush won the Derby. 

A quarter back behind the string, 
The entries made their starting spring. 
High bred Ulysses at the pole — 
With hope to hold it to the goal — 
And then Ben Eder, Brush and all ; 
But gallant Brush came near a fall. 
When at the clang of starter's bell. 
The field went dashing down, pell mail ; 
So First Mate set the rattling pace 
In that hot foot and famous race. 
When Ben Brush won the Derby. 

Ben Eder pushed young First Mate out. 
And from the stand a roaring shout 
Came from his partisans, and then 
The field was bunched behind brave Ben, 



22 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

Along the back stretch thus they flew- 
Ben Eder's distance barely grew — 
And so they reached the upper turn, 
While every rider bent to earn, 
With whip and spur, a better place. 
And yet it looked like Eder's race. 
When Ben Brush won the Derby. 

Around the turn, and down the home, 
The flyers came, all white with foam. 
By full three lengths or more ahead 
The two Bens bravely, madly sped, 
Ben Eder leading Brush a length, 
When, with a burst of speed and strength 
Ben Brush pressed forward at the close 
And 'neath the wire pushed his nose, 
Then from the crowd wild huzzas rose. 
Loud and alike, from friends and foes. 
When Ben Brush won the Derby. 



BALCAZAR. 

His eye is dark and threatening, 
And kingly is his mien — 

He comes of a race of monarchs 
And his mother was a queen. 

His step is proud, his spirit high 
And he is strong and bold ; 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 23 

Yet the gentlest hand may guide him 
As it did the knights of old. 

His ancestors had been the friends 

Of noble lords and kings, 
And from the days of errantry 

Their fame the poet sings. 
In love and war, and in the chase. 

In castle, town and home, 
'Twas known before the Caesars, 

Or a hierarch of Rome. 

See where he stands and waits for me ; 

Now glancing through the trees, 
And 'cross the verdant meadow lands, 

Whence comes the odor'd breeze 
That blows aslant his ebon hair — 

Good-bye ; his call I heed, 
For he's my friend, that's well beloved — 

My gallant, high-bred steed. 



THE RIFLE IN THE HALL. 

From the days of Boone and Kenton, 
In "the Dark and Bloody Ground," 

To the days when homes and gardens 
In the blue-grass land abound ; 

Since it sent its leaden messengers 
To bring the savage down, 



24 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

We have blest the good old rifle 
Of Kentucky and renown. 

It is long, and grim, and rusty. 

And out of date its lock. 
And tarnished are the mountings 

In brass upon its stock. 
But we love the ancient weapon. 

Resting high against the wall ; 
That old Kentucky rifle. 

On the buckhorns in the hall. 

By the date and letters graven 

On its butt, we understand 
That our grandsire was its master, 

And in his sturdy hand 
It cleared the way for progress, 

Thro' many a savage fray. 
To where 'tis dumbly hanging 

On the buckhorns there today. 

Thro' trial and the wilderness. 

His faithful guard and guide, 
'Twas cherished by that hardy soul. 

And 'twas his boast and pride. 
Now, 'mong the rich bequests he left 

The dearest of them all 
Is the long Kentucky rifle 

On the buckhorns in the hall. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 25 

NEW GROUND. 

The trees were girdled, long ago, 

Down in that woodland piece, 
That lay along between the creeks 

And joining Closser's lease. 
'Tis sad to see that gentle spring 

Brings now no foliage there, 
But leaves the trees in nakedness, 

Their long arms thin and bare. 

The birds have flown, and far away 

In plaintive song they tell 
Of how, before the sounding ax, 

The old trees, groaning fell. 
The shady nooks of other days. 

The sun and glare have found. 
And men have come with fire and spike 

For clearing up the ground. 

The trees are logs, the boughs are gone, 

In heaps the trunks now lie. 
And heaving, 'mid their drink and song. 

Log rollers vaunting vie ; 
Young boys are burning heaps of brush ; 

The log piles blaze, and bright 
The fires burn throughout the day 

And glare the sky at night. 



26 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

The other fields are old and worn, 

Beneath the farmer's toil ; 
The crops of many years have drained 

The nurture of the soil. 
So thus the woods where you and I, 

As hoyden children played, 
Are gone, as have the happy days 

Within the sylvan shade. 



THE FEE' LARK'S SONG. 

" I — chee — wee ! " " I — chee — wee ! 
Harkee ! mammy, hark ! 
There he is ; can't you see } 
He's the first fee' lark. 

See him settin' on the fence } 
I thess think his style's immense ; 
Nen I know thess w'at he sings, 
Cos he sings it all the springs ; 

" Pull them shoes off, mighty fas', 
Turn them toeses out to grass." 
He can say a heap, you see. 
With his little " I— chee— wee !" 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 2l 



OUR CABIN. 

It was early in November ; 

Ah, the time I well remember ! 
Tho' that was more than sixty years agone, 

When I came here with my honey, 

Blest with health but not with money, 
And I had my Old Virginia blood and brawn. 

We'd a wagon load of " plunder," 
And a love that naught could sunder ; 

To one another we were all the earth. 

And the changes time has brought us 
Have but only sweetly taught us 

That fidelity's its own and truest worth. 

Oh ! 'twas lovely in this valley 

When myself and darling Sally 
Camped on the banks of the clear and babbling 
stream 

And the forest, deep and olden. 

Tinted scarlet, green and golden. 
Sang vespers while we dreamed a happy dream. 

Here I built my love a bower, 
Tho' its sweetest, fairest flower 
Was the little wife who dwelt therein with me ; 



28 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

And we wrought, with hope, together, 
In the bracing autumn weather, 
Buoyant and happy, ardent, young and free. 

Then the forest, dark and hoary. 

Gave from 'mid its lusty glory 
The timbers for our little cabin here, 

And the neighbors came and " raised " it, 

Sweet Sally blessed and praised it. 
And no other home has ever seemed so dear. 

With the years that have been flowing 
From the fount of time and going, 

The cabin home has grown with every day, 
And the sun is broadly streaming 
Where were forests, and the gleaming 

In the valley, is the harvest's proud array. 

Much wealth has come to bless us 

And but little to distress us. 
And the house has grown to be a mansion fair ; 

Still I find my mem'ry holding 

Apart, and fondly folding 
To itself, the cot I built for Sally there. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 29 

MY MOTHER'S PORTRAIT. 

I have come to the home of my childhood ; 

Come back from the toil and the strife 
Of the roaring world back to the wildwood 

And rest in the evening of life. 
I came through the forest and farmland, 

And up thro' the roses, along 
By the banks of the lake of this charmland. 

And heard the free meadow-lark's song:. 



'&• 



The lion-head, dull brazen knocker 

Is yet on the door of the hall ; 
Inside is the old-fashioned rocker, 

The dearest old chair of them all. 
I sit in its arms, that invite me, 

And gaze on a face that is fair; 
A face that smiles sweetly and brightly, 

And lovingly welcomes me there. 

Oh, dark are the curls that are falling 

About the fair shoulders and face, 
And soft are the eyes that seem calling 

Her wandering boy to his place 
In the arms that so tenderly held him, 

In infancy's innocent days ; 
Dear white arms, that never repelled him, 

Tho' ever so wayward his ways. 



30 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

Oh, God ! could I have my sweet mother 

Forever and ever with me, 
She, dearest of all — and another, 

Whose loved name shall nameless here be— 
Mv burden of life and its sorrow, 

Would sink in joy's fathomless sea, 
And bright would come shining each morrow, 

A blessing, dear Father, from Thee. 



A LOVE SONG. 

I love you, my sweetheart ; my sweetheart, I 
love you. 
And wish I might kiss your bonny, sweet 
mouth, 
Down there, 'mid the roses that, dripping with 
eve-dew 
Are 'stilling, by moonshine, the balm of the 
South. 

My darling, my sweetheart, the days are so 
dreary. 

And weary the years that drag slowly along, 
When I am away from the arms of my dearie, 

That life is a sigh and the ghost of a song. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 31 

Will the time ever come, my darling, my sweet- 
heart, 
When here in the strong arms that longingly 
wait, 
You will rest thus forever, and never to part 
From love that is deep and defiant of fate ? 

My darling, my dearie, my love and my idol, 
I am worshiping now at the sanctified shrine. 

Wherein hath been hallowed the vows of a bridal 
That made you in soul, if not mortally mine. 

My heart is the censer, where incense is burning — 
The incense of love that is fragrant and strong — 

The eyes of my soul to your image are turning, 
And breathing my love-prayer, I sing you this 
song: 

I love you, my sweetheart; my sweetheart, I 
love you ; 

Each moment of life is a tear and a sigh ; 
Oh, come to the arms that so longingly wait you, 

Come to the love that's as deep as the sky. 



32 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

DOWN AT THE ROCKY SPRING. 

A winding path that tumbled down 

A steep and grassy hill, 
Found, at the foot, a rocky spring 

Where I have drunk my fill 
Of water pure and cold as that 

Of which the prophet wrote, 
When Israel drank, beside the rock, 
I That good old Moses smote. 

A little house of rough-hewn stone ; 

A low and heavy door ; 
A roof o'ergrown with greenest moss ; 

Of solid rock the floor. 
I've shadowed old Aunt Easter there, 

And followed down the path. 
To find her busy, skimming milk, 

And met her feigned wrath. 

" You little scamp ; I know yo' tricks ; 

You thinks you's fine as silk ; 
I knows you comes er ha'ntin' 'roun' 

Fur some er dis yer milk. 
But you is gwinter miss yo' lick 

Dis time, I tells you now ; 
Kase you ain't wuff yo' daily salt — 

Dat's whut yo' mammy 'low." 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 33 

But well I knew Aunt Easter's way ; 

Her pretense, grim and stern — 
My time would come when she had filled 

The clean, old butter churn. 
" Come hyar ! Dis milk is gwinter spile ; 

Dar's heap too much today; 
But dis is jes' de las' you gits — 

You heah me, whut I say? " 

So there I sit — across the sill — 

And quaff the goodly bowl ; 
Aunt Easter's happy as the boy — 

God bless her dear old soul ! 
Since then, full oft, I've sought the place, 

And plucked the mint that grew 
Along the branch, below the spring — 

And found it mixed with rue. 

I've drank the rich and sparkling wines 

Of sunny France and Spain, 
And felt the splendid joys they bring ; 

Their misery and pain. 
But no such healthful, hearty draught 

Will poet ever sing, 
As that Aunt Easter gave me, oft, 

Down at the rocky spring. 



34 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

THE OLD GRINDSTONE. 

I'm glad the old thing's broken, 

And its bench is torn apart ; 
When I was but a sapling 

Of a boy, it broke my heart. 
There it lies, dismantled, ruined, 

And 'tis joy to see it prone, 
That instrument of torture. 

The old grindstone. 

I stand upon its segments — 

Nearly buried where they lie — 
And memory of that anguish 

Brings a tear into my eye. 
I am glad the days of sorrow. 

That it brought to me, have flown, 
And I can stand and stamp upon 

The old grindstone. 

So many days in summer. 

When the fish were biting fine, 
I've yearned to tantalize them 

With my brand-new hook and line. 
But had to work the handle 

Until wearied to the bone. 
And turn, till I was dizzy. 

The old grindstone. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 35 

At noontime, in the haying 

When the dark and grassy shade 
Was cooling and inviting, 

I have felt my color fade 
When father, or big brother, 

Would call in gruffest tone : 
" Come here, you scamp, and turn awhile 

The old grindstone ! " 

I've made it whizz and wobble 

Till the blade it ground would ring; 
And when it needed water, 

I must bring that from the spring ; 
But when I thought of resting, 

I was "just a lazy drone," 
For it seemed I was the slaveling of 

The old grindstone. 

The years are very many 

Since the trials of my youth. 
And, though I've wished them back again, 

To tell the honest truth, 
I think I'd rather bear the ills 

Along my pathway strown. 
Than be a boy and turn again 

The old grindstone. 



36 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

ON NEXT COURT DAY. 

" I'll tell you, Jim, thar ain't no use 

To talk on this no mo'. 
I've tuck a heap er yo' abuse, 

Fur sartain en fur sho'. 
We'll settle hit next time we meet- 

You hear me say my say — 
An' that'll be plum' in the street, 

In town on county cote day." 

" Say, Sam, I want to talk with you 
'Bout clarin' up some groun', 
Now, tell me what you wanter do, 
Fur cash, or dicker, down." 
" Well, I hain't fittin', Tom, jes now- 
Ain't in the peartest way — 
But we kin fix hit up, I 'low, 
In town on county cote day." 

" I've got a Glencoe colt. Bill Dick, 
I'll swop you fur that mar'. 
His pedigree is pooty slick. 
En he will be a star." 
" I've noticed him a time or two — 
You mean that gilden bay 1 — 
Well, I kin tell you what I'll do 
In town on county cote day.'* 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 37 

' Oh, yes, indeed ! I hearn some talk 

'Bout nominatin' Bright ; 
But he will hatter walk the chalk 

Ef he gets thar all right. 
Still, howsumdever, ef we kin, 

The voters up ow way 
Will work a scheme to git him in. 

At town on county cote day." 

For fights, or trades, or politics. 

Or anything of note. 
That takes some leisure time to fix. 

It's set for county " cote " — 
Election time, just now and then — 

But whether grave or gay, 
'Tis oftenest, among these men, 

" In town on county cote day." 



WAITING FOR THE CALL. 

An old gray house, on an old-time farm — 
'Twas on a Christmas night — 

Thro' chinks were streaming rays of charm 
In yellow shafts of light. 

An old gray white and an old gray black 
Were sitting by the blaze 



38 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

That curled and played on the chimney back — 
Sat thinking their own old ways. 

Said the old black man to the old white man : 
" Hit's fawty yeahs tonight 
Sense you gin to me this piece er Ian', 
An' the pootyes' gal in sight. 

** You gin us, ersides, dem papahs, too, 
Dat sot us bon' ones free, 
An' Nan an' me sung * Hally, Hally Loo ! ' 
Lak er song er jubilee." 

" Well, what if I did t " said the old gray white, 
" Didn't both belong to me t 
And didn't I have, by law, the right 
To set my niggahs free } 

" And, what is more," said the old white man, 
" My farm was broad and long. 
And didn't you, and your poor old Nan, 
Find life a sweeter song } " 

" Lawd bless you, marster, blessin's fell 
As fas' as drops er rain ; 
Yes, every soun' was a silver bell, 
Till God called Nan ergain. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 39 

" But we wuz all de slaves you had, 
An' sense you b'en so po' 
I'se felt dat we wuz actin' bad 
To wish for freedom so." 

" No more ! no more ! " said the old white man ; 
" I'm richer than a king ! 
You give me blessings, all you can ; 
I need not anything. 

" And, more than all, am I not blest. 
While waiting for the call ? 
I gave you Freedom, God's bequest, 
Intended for us all." 



FETCH OVER THE CANOE. 

Oh ! list the call across the stream : 

"Who-ee! Who-ee!" 
'Tis like an echo in a dream ; 
The mock-bird laughs the cry anew, 
As if some secret sweet he knew, 
And 'cross the rippling waters blue 
Comes, furrowing, a gum-canoe. 
"Who-ee! Who-ee! 
Fetch over the canoe ! " 
I see the bushes parting, 
And a dainty gown of blue. 



40 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

A laughing maiden guides the boat ; 

Who-ee ! Who-ee ! 
She seems a fairy there afloat ; 
The saucy mock-bird flying screams, 
The puding water gHnts and gleams, 
And 'mong the lilies, crushing through. 
The maiden drives her light canoe. 
Who-ee ! Who-ee ! 
Here lies the gum-canoe, 
And here's the laughing maiden 
In her dainty gown of blue. 

Oh, that was long and long ago ! 

Who-ee ! Who-ee ! 
No longer there the lilies grow ; 
The woods are gone, the mock-bird's flown ; 
A bridge across the stream is thrown ; 
Along the shores a city grew ; 
The maiden's grave is 'neath the yew. 

Who-ee ! Who-ee ! 

Where is the old canoe ? 

And where the pretty maiden, 

In her dainty gown of blue ? 

No more the gold and crimson hints — 

Who-ee ! Who-ee ! 
Of autumn there, the bank-side tints ; 
The maiden's smile in memory lives ; 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 41 

My soul a sigh that memory gives, 
And in my heart grows weeping rue, 
Mourning the maid and her canoe. 

Who-ee ! Who-ee ! 

Good-bye, old gum-canoe. 

No more you'll bring the maiden 

In her dainty gown of blue. 



A SUMMER NIGHT. 

I saw a disk of molten gold 

Sink down against the western edge ; 

Then cleave the purple of the wold 

As 'twere a great and shining wedge 
That's driven 'neath an unseen sledge. 

A gray triangle sweeps along, 

Toward the dark'ning eastern line. 

Where evening stars in twinkling throng 
Make merry at the day's decline ; 
And lonely stands a sentry pine. 

Above the southern wood the moon 

Swings up, a burnished silver wheel ; 

Sad sounding comes the night-bird's croon ; 
Along the breeze sweet odors steal, 
And night, in summer, sets its seal. 



42 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

SONGS WE USED TO SING. 

Tenderly touching and sweet to the soul, 

Are the songs we used to sing, 
As along the halls of the years we stroll. 

Where echoing now they ring. 
The heart is filled with a memory dear 

Of a maiden fond and coy. 
And the eye is dewed with a pitying tear 

For the first love of a boy. 

So comes the old song back once more. 
That oft we sang in days of yore : 

" Oh ! don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt, 
Sweet Alice with hair so brown } 

She wept with delight when you gave her a smile. 
And trembled with fear at your frown." 

The mock-bird's song and the wail of the dove, 

The " Bob White " pipe of the quail, 
The nesting larks as they twitter their love. 

The beat of the thresher's flail. 
The shade and the shine of the dear old South, 

And its fields of waving corn. 
The mellow sound from the vibrant mouth 

Of the welcome dinner horn. 

So comes the old song back again. 
In dulcet burden and refrain : 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 43 

"The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky 
home, 
'Tis summer, the darkies are gay ; 
The corn-top's ripe and the meadow's in the 
bloom. 
While the birds are making music all the day." 

The hewed-log meeting-house, deep in the wood. 

Has gone with the passing years ; 
A grass-grown hillock now marks where it stood, 

That memory dews with her tears. 
'Twas old Mount Zion, the loved and the blest, 

Of souls so simple and true, 
And they have gone to the peace and the rest. 

That lies 'neath the sorrowing yew. 

So comes the old song back once more. 
That oft we sang in days of yore : 

" Here I'll raise my Ebenezer, 
Hither by thy help I'll come ; 
And I hope by thy good pleasure 
Safely to arrive at home." 

How swells the heart of the patriot crew, 

Where proud the banner streams, 
That's called " Old Glory," the Red, White and 
Blue, 

Whose star-light flashes and gleams 



44 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

From mountain to ocean and over the seas, 

The pride of a blessed land, 
And long may it wave in Columbia's breeze. 
The gift of a hero band. 

So comes the old song back again. 
In dulcet burden and refrain : 

" Oh ! say, can you see by the dawn's early light, 
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last 
gleaming ? " 

Where in the hot focal blaze of the fight 

The war-god shook his sable plume. 
And where the red-breathed brazen cannon's 
blight 
Deep dyed the field with crimson spume ; 
In lulls of battle, twixt the roars of strife, 

Like laugh of children in a gale, 
I've heard the music of the drum and fife, 
Playing amid the iron hail. 

The game old song that comes again, 
In dulcet burden and refrain : 

" 'Way down South, in de land of cotton, 
'Simmon seed an' sandy bottom, 
Lookaway, lookaway, lookaway, 

Dixie's land." 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 45 

OLD-TIME MELODIES. 

Thin and white are the faded hands, 
That tremble o'er the ivory keys, 
'Mong old-time melodies they reach, 
And from the past a cadent breeze 
Comes singing low — so sweetly low — 
The dear loved songs of long ago. 

There's tender love; there's blessed love; 

There's joy, dear one, for you and me, 
In those sweet songs that come again. 
To ripple mem'ry's placid sea ; 
'Tis echo of a halcyon time 
Borne hither from a balmy clime. 

Such were the songs you sung to me 

'Mid roses and the rich perfume 
That came on zephyrs from the banks 
Embroidered bright in pansy bloom ; 
They rose within your pretty mouth 
Blent with the accent of the South. 

And I could bless the ivory keys, 

That 'neath the trembling finger-tips 
Bring back the songs of long ago. 
. That kissed my sweetheart's crimson lips : 
Dear lips, fond lips, that yet are mine. 
Bedewed with love's own honeyed wine. 



46 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

LUCIE LEE OF TENNESSEE. 

I'll sing of dear old Tennessee, 

In the days of long ago, 
And sing of lovely Lucie Lee, 

As in the olden glow 
We floated down the rippling stream. 

In my poplar-tree canoe, 
At evening-time, and lived the dream 

And the song of lovers true. 

Oh, Lucie Lee of Tennessee 1 

Though that was long ago, 
I love you still, and ever will. 

Come to me weal or woe ; 
And yet again my song's refrain, 

For you, my Lucie Lee, 
Will echoing ring, as I shall sing. 

Along the Tennessee. 

We rambled where wild flowers grew, 

And we loved their sweet perfume ; 
With them we decked the old canoe 

Till it seemed to be in bloom ; 
Amid the pinks and columbines. 

As we sped the boat along. 
And 'mong the honeysuckle vines. 

We sang love's sweetest song. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 47 

Then Lucie truly promised me 

She'd love me evermore, 
And wait beside the Tennessee, 

And sing along its shore, 
Till I came back from toil and strife, 

On Fortune's changeful sea. 
To claim, forever, for my wife, 

My dark-eyed Lucie Lee. 



IN MISSISSIPPI WOODS. 

Some blue spots dashed with springtime haze, 

Seen thro' magnolia trees and bays ; 

The emerald green of tall pine tops, 
A laggard breeze, to bend them, stops ; 

A crimson splash of maple bloom, 

A scent of " sweet shrub's " soft perfume. 

The snow of dogwood, hiding low, 

The lazy call of a loafing crow ; 

The mock-bird's laugh, that sneering rings 
Because an humbler songster sings ; 

Of sun and shade a perfect day. 

In southern March like northern May. 

We rambled there — sweet Belle and I — 
And heard the forest laugh and cry. 
In maiden fancy, bright and free, 
She thought the deep old woods a sea. 



48 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

The rich-robed birds, with whirr and swish, 
In dashing by were flashing fish. 

Pine cones were conch shells on the floor, 
And soughing winds the ocean's roar. 

The great white clouds above the tips 
Of waving trees, were full-sailed ships, 
With romance laden, for the land 
Where Love stands shivering on the strand. 

But here, within the forest deep. 
Where angels through the blue spots peep, 
We wandered far — sweet Belle and I — 
And heard the forest laugh and cry. 
To crown her sire's birthday fete. 
We gathered bloom and tarried late. 



DANCING IN THE OLD TIME. 

For his love of " Kerry dancing," 

Sweet the Irish poet sings ; 
But to me far more entrancing, 

As returned on memory's wings. 
Are the dances and the luncheons 

In the cabins long ago, 
And the way we shook the puncheons 

To the strains of "Old Jim Crow." 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 49 

From his chair, high on a table, 

In the happy, old-time days. 
There the fiddler, gray and sable, 

Stamps a foot and gaily plays : 
Plays his " Hear de Bells a-Ringing," 

Then his "■ Snowbird at de Do'," 
While he calls the figures, singing: 

"Swing dem cawnders!" "Forrid fo'!" 

His favorite, " Old Leather Breeches," 

Rings thro' memory in my ear. 
And his singing, " Full er Stitches," 

Blends with rattling "Forked Deer." 
All the girls in linsey dresses, 

All the boys in homemade jeans. 
When they swing, each rascal presses 

Close the girl that on him leans. 

You may have the stately " lancers " ; 

Give me back the other days. 
And the jolly, romping dancers. 

Seen thro' memory's thick'ning haze^ 
Those were sweet days, I remember. 

Just as these will be to all. 
When they see, from life's November, 

Where the length'ning shadows fall. 



50 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

THE KENTUCKIAN'S LAMENT. 

I useter live in old Kaintuck some forty year ago, 
An' come back here again, to stop, a week er 

two, er mo', 
But now I'm goin' back out West, an' stay thar 

too, my son, 
'Kase I don't like the changes that the times has 

gone an' done. 

Thar useter be a little crick a 'runnin' 'neath this 

hill, 
An' furder down thar useter stan' a monst'ous 

fine old mill ; 
I've waded in that little crick, an' fished fur min- 

ners thar. 
An' watched the mus'rats divin' in the water 

fresh an' clar. 

I useter ride a grist to mill — a sack er Injun 

cawn — 
J is' many a time, in them old days, so long 'fo' 

you was bawn ; 
An' me an* all the yuther boys — in winter time, 

you know — 
Was parchin' cawn, an' swappin' lies ontell we 

had to go. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 51 

That little crick has gone plum' dry, the mill is 

all to' down, 
An' blamed ef they ain't tuck the spot to build 

er onry town, 
An' where the big-road useter run thar's growin' 

weeds an' grass, 
An' thar's a cut, clean thro' the hill, fur railroad 

kyars to pass. 

Them shell-bark hick'ry trees is gone, whar me 

an' yo' Aunt Sue, 
Has gather'd nuts, so many falls, when we was 

size er you ; 
An' over yan, whar houses stan' along the south 

hill side, 
Thar stood the woods, an' pawpaws growed an' 

possums useter hide. 

The boys as useter play with me, when I was but 

a kid, 
Has all turned gray — 'cep' them that's bald — 

an' some the ground has hid ; 
An' stid er jeans, an' home'ade socks, an' all the 

like er that, 
Sto' close is all the go, mer son, them an' the — 

bee-gum hat. 



52 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

The sasser ain't no longer used to po' yo' coffee 

in, 
An' eatin' with yo' knife has grow'd to be a 

mortal sin ; 
An' what is wuss than all the rest, an' seems to 

me mos' quar' 
Cocktails, an' sich like truck as that, has knock'd 

out whisky clar. 

These things is much too much for me. It's 

broke my heart in two. 
It's ru'nous to the country, an' it aint'er goin' 

ter do ; 
I'm goin' back — you hear me shout — clean back 

to Washin'tun ; 
I wanter find Old Skookumchuck, an' stay thar, 

too, mer son. 



DOWN SOUTH. 

I. 

Tis summer in the quiet land of bloom, 
'Neath skies that winter never knew; 

In forests deep the dusky cypress plume 
Nods where the wild-vine tendrils clew 

Among the humbler growth, beneath the shade 
Of centuried and hoary oaks. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 53 

And where the rainbow-tinted sunbeams fade 
Under the long and traiHng cloaks 

Of mosses, bannered to the lofty boughs, 
That weave a close and leafy screen, 

For nooks where fly-begoaded cattle browse, 
In covers cool, of grateful green. 

II. 

Before the facade of the deep, dark wood. 

The fallow-fields and pastures lie ; 
And ripening harvests, teeming, rich and good. 

Give pleasing promise to the eye. 
Among the china and the orange trees, 

And flowers of myriad dye, 
And jasmine vines, that in each balmy breeze 

Their gay and golden showers fly, 
There stands, with open doors, a planter's home, 

And stillness reigns about its halls. 
Except the sound of bees around the comb. 

Or ring-dove's low and distant calls. 

in. 

The sunflower droops in comely grace 
Before the day-king's fervid rays — 

A Clytie fair, who bends her modest face ' 

- Beneath Apollo's ardent gaze. 

A shimmering haze is in the air, 
The mocking bird his riot stills. 



54 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

The river glints beneath the sun's fierce glare,. 
And mists hang o'er the far-off hills. 

The pigeons croon beneath the eaving-frieze, 
A kitten sleeps in " mammy's " lap, 

And in a hammock, swung betwixt two trees, 
" Old marster " takes his noon-tide nap. 



OLD MART AN' ME. 

Hit's been so monstrous long ago it seems jes 

like a dream, 
Sence we was only chunks er boys — a rough-an' 

tumble team — 
That useter dam the spring house branch an' set 

up flutter wheels, 
An' work so dead in arnest that we often miss'd 

our meals, 
An' sometimes fit en quarreled till we war a 

sight to see, 

An' frequent we got licked for that. 
Old Mart an' me. 

Time come we had to go to school — some furder 

en a mile — 
But what we larnt, until this day, jis sorter 

makes me smile ; 
'Twas little mo than nuthin', en we got it, inch 

by inch. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 55 

While the teacher lammed it to us, till we had 

the mortal cinch 
On everything the old man knowed, plum to the 
rule of three, 

But frequent we got licked for that, 
Old Mart an' me. 

We was raised on farms adjinin' with plenty all 

aroun' 
But still we'd skip off, atter dark, an' pole away 

to town. 
Three mile, up hill, ef 'twar a foot, an' jine the 

boys up there, 
To eat sardines, and smoke seegyars, an' have a 

sort of " tare," 
Or rob a neighbor's million patch — for deviltry, 

you see, 

But frequent we got licked for that, 
Old Mart an' me. 

At spellin' bouts and singin' school, thar's whar 

we useter shine ; 
We couldn't spell a little bit, ner sing so mighty 

fine, 
But when it come to courtin' gals an' seein' of 

'em home. 
Why we was thar, an' you hear me, 'twas honey 

in the comb. 



56 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

Then Widder Kane got married, an' we raised a 
shivaree — 

But didn't we get licked for that, 
Old Mart and me ! 

When finally the war broke loose, an' Mart an' 
me went in, 

One time we struck a scrimmage that was live- 
lier en sin ; 

We had it, back an' forrards, twict, acrost a 
cotton patch — 

You never seed, in all yo' life, a hotter shootin' 
match — 

I got a plug clean th'oo my leg, an' him one in 
the knee, 

So, we got sorter licked at that 
Old Mart and me. 

We've had some ups and downs in life, and 

growin' kinder old, 
With hearts as warm as ever, an' they never will 

get cold. 
So fur as him an' me's consarned ; not even 

over thar. 
When all are called to answer at the final jedg- 

ment bar, 
For friendship's close to holiness, and blamed 

ef I can see. 

How we'll get licked a bit for that. 
Old Mart an' me. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 57 

HARP OF THE SOUTH. 

" Harp of the North," the Wizard sang, 

And tuned his glowing lays 
'Mid gallant deeds and battle's clang 

And clan to clan's affrays. 
Could I but sing so sweet a song — 

And strong as Scotia's bard, ' 

I'd ring the charge of every wrong 

Till tyranny set guard ; 
More fit, for me, a sweet refrain 

Of home and long ago. 
Harp of the South, I strike again 

The dear, old, quaint banjo. 
No organ's diapason swell. 

In grand cathedral, dim. 
E'er on the heart of novice fell. 

In vesper's sacred hymn. 
With more impress of love and soul, 

And deep devotion true. 
Than Southern song to mem'ry's goal 

Thus borne, my harp, by you. 

And now I sing, to the banjo ring, 

In tune by memory led. 
And hear a sound like whispers 'round 

The grave of the Past, long dead ; 



58 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

'Tis a whir and a hum, 

And a doleful thrum, 
But music my heart can feel — 

I hear as before, 

In days of yore. 
Black mammy's spinning wheel. 

It brings me joy, as when a boy 

I sat in her cabin door, 
And heard her sing to the spindle's ring, 
As she paced the "puncheon " floor; 

From the dawn to the gloam. 

In the old South home, 
A mammy true, black and leal, 

She trudged to and fro, 

In the long ago. 
And wrought at her spinning wheel. 

How blest the days, how sweet the ways. 

That Kate and I saw then — 
My sister Kate, whom God and fate. 
Have taken to His Aidenn. 
Now 'neath the orange trees. 
Kissed by each balmy breeze, 
That thro' magnolias steal. 
Under the bloom 
Lies Katie's tomb, 
And still's the spinning wheel. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 59 

IN MEXICO. 

I loved a maid in Mexico, 

A dark-eyed senorita, kind and sweet 
And tho' that was so long ago, 

My heart is still a captive at her feet. 
Oft thro' her latticed balcony, and long, 

I've watched her thrum the light guitar, 
And heard her sing the gay bolero song. 
My love, my life, my Mexic star. 
I see her eyes, so dark and bright, 

And hear her voice, so soft and low ; 
'Tis living in my soul tonight, 
With dreams of her and Mexico. 

She's waiting there, in Mexico, 

My dark-haired maid, my sweetheart, fond 
and true ; 
She'll wait for me, where 'er I go. 

With love as pure and fresh as honey-dew. 
Her great black eyes, so tender and so deep. 

Will watch for me, and brightly beam 
To hear my name, and faithfully she'll keep 
Her troth, as fair as angel's dream. 
So come, fair fortune, come to me ; 

I long to go, I long to go, 
Across the land and Southern sea, 
To dear Inez, in Mexico. 



60 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

CHRISTMAS IN THE OLE TIME. 

Now, love, come and sing with me, 
Within this home beside the sea ; 
And sit you, daughter, at my knee, 

To help the homely rhyme. 
I'll sing of days ere you were born : 
Of apples and the gathered corn ; 
Of darkies and the dinner horn. 

And Christmas in the ole time. 

We'll tune the banjo to the lay, 
And make the music light and gay, 
For that, my loved ones, was the way 

Of **we-all," in the prime 
And happy days of long ago, 
When Uncle Jube and Mammy Chlo' 
Made jolly times like honey flow 

For Christmas in the ole time. 

More love shines in black mammy's face ; 
More joy pervades the old home place ; 
The sun streams down with softer grace ; 

The distant church bell's chime 
Has sweeter music in its ring ; 
More merrily the darkies sing, 
And jollier greetings meetings bring. 

In Christmas in the ole time. 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS gj 

The stillicide of honey-bees ; 

The grateful scent of od'rous trees ; 

The balmy, perfume-laden breeze 

Of that dear sunny clime, 
And all the happiness and glee 
Are borne on memory's wing to me, 
At home beside this western sea, 

Of Christmas in the ole time. i 



Christmas eve — the old plantation — 
See the quarters blaze with light ; 

Hear the fiddle, bones and banjo ; 
People there are gay tonight. 

Listen to the leader sing : 

" Jine de song, you sassy niggahs !" 
Hear the hearty chorus ring : 

" Dat's all right, you call de figgahs !" 

Dar's ole Marster, good en true ; 

Ah ha, oo hoo ! 
Ole Mistiss, she is dat way, too ; 

Ah ha, 00 hoo ! 
Young Mars Jim en sweet Miss Sue — 

Ah ha, 00 hoo ! 
Lawd bless all ole Marster's crew ; 

Ah ha, 00 hoo ! 



62 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

Sing wid all yo' might en main, 
Christmas, it am here again ; ^ 
Christmas come but once a year ; 
Wen it come we has a sheer ; 
Ah ha, 00 hoo ! 

Turkey, he am mighty proud ; 

Ah ha, 00 hoo ! 
Struttin' roun' en gobblin' loud ; 

Ah ha, oo hoo ! 
I'll pick his bone en spread his wing ; 

Ah ha, oo hoo ! 
Chickin's neck I'se gwine to wring ; 

Ah ha, 00 hoo ! 
Sing wid all yo' might en main, 
Christmas, it am here again ; 
Christmas come but once a year ; 
Wen it come we has a sheer ; 

Ah ha, 00 hoo ! 

Thus, and long, in sweet concordance, 
Come the song and quaint refrain, 

Trooping merrily and welcome 

Down the years in mem'ry's train. 

Daylight comes, and Christmas morning 

Glides in through the eastern rift. 
And the "people" — old and young ones — 
** Ketch " the white folks' " Christmas gift." 



BLUE GRASS BALLADS 63 

Mammy herds the whooping youngsters — 
White and black — within her call ; 

Mistress scatters Christmas presents 
From the quarters to the hall. 

Master storms, in anger's pretense, 

In and out, about the place, 
But the soul of all his goodness 

Glistens in his jolly face. 

Love and joy, with song and dancing, 

In the olden Southern ways, 
Tinted with the holy story. 

Sped the happy holidays. 

Now the banjo — harp of Southland — 

Tuned with us in homely rhyme, 
Rest, and with it, 'neath the willow, 
"Christmas in the ole time." 



WHEN THE JULEP'S RIPE. 

Ole marster's feelin' mighty fine. 
En I kin tell what's on his mine'. 
In cose de race time has to do 
Some little wid his feelin's too. 
But dat what's mos'ly pleasin' him, 
An' puttin' him in sich good trim, 



64 BLUE GRASS BALLADS 

Is sompen of another stripe- 
Hit's dem mint juleps gittin' ripe. 

Fo' long you'll hear him callin' me, 
An' sayin' : " Go, you scamp, an' see 
Ef you ca' fine some mint dat's fit 
To make a julep ; en ef hit 
Is high ernuff fur dat, w'y take 
Dem talles' sprigs en go en make 
Dat soothin' draff, en bring it here, 
En you'll have easy times dis year." 

Den I gwine take er lump er two 
Er nice cut shugar — hear me th'oo — 
En 'solve it in some water — um ! — 
Den take erbout er gill er rum, 
En 'bout three fingers whisky straight, 
En mix 'em all — now ca' you wait t 
Den jis fo' sprigs er mint in dar, 
En han' him dat mint julep, sah. 

Hit do me good to see him drink, 
En smack he lips, an' set an' think 
How long dat mint is gwineter las' ! 
But hit'll go, mos' monst'ous fas'. 
An' all dat time I gwine to be 
Right close to him, whar I kin see 
Him smoke dat big ole cawncob pipe, 
En 'joy dem juleps when dey's ripe. 



Other Verse 



Other Verse 



THE GOVERNOR'S VIOLIN. 

'Mid the silken perfumed elegance, 

Within a stately house, 
I've heard its rich tones ringing 

Through the 'wilderings of Strauss, 
And I've heard the sigh of gentle ones 

Who listened while it bore 
To charmed hearts, the sweetness 

Of the touching "Trovatore." 

I've heard it in the evening, 

Within a quiet home. 

Sing " Swanee River " till the bees 

Came humming 'round the comb ; 
'Mid the phases of the wassail 

And the joys of festal cheer, 
I've heard it change from gay to grave. 

From lively to severe. 

In tender tones of pleading ; 

In sighs of spent delight ; 
In greetings to the mornmg 

And in good-byes to the night ; 

67 



es OTHER VERSE 

In Storms upon the ocean 
And in the songs of birds, 

I've heard its voice, like a living thing, 
In sweetest human words. 

I've heard it give, stentorian, 

Command in battle's blare, 
And heard it whisper, soft and low. 

Like angels in the air. 
'Mong brawny men, in mining camps, 

I've seen it hush a brawl, 
Till clenched hands are open palms 

That in each other fall. 

I've seen it gather little ones 

About the player's knee, 
As did the babes of olden time 

'Round Him of Galilee. 
And to it oft I've listened. 

Till all the world was kin. 
While lovingly its master played 

The Governor's violin. 



OTHER VERSE 69 

THE BARBARIAN. 

A grim, barbaric warrior heard 

How Christ was crucified ; 
How meek and uncomplainingly 

He bent His head and died. 
He heard, aghast, the dreadful tale, 

Then seethed with wrath his brain : 
" Had I been there with three-score men, 

The Christ had not been slain ! " 

As thus he spoke he fiercely grasped 

The handle of his brand ; 
In knots his brawny muscles stood 

And he austere and grand. 
"Where were His brave defenders then?" 

The chieftain might have asked. 
Had he but longer in the light 

Of Christian knowledge basked — 
" Where, then, the zealous champions 

Who thousands since have slain — 
The * unbelievers * slaughtered 

By inquisitors in Spain, 

And in ' Bloody Mary's ' reign ? " 

As 'twas he questioned eagerly : 
" Where were the God-man's friends — 
They for whose immortal souls 
He bent His aims and ends } 



70 OTHER VERSE 

Stood they about and raised no hand 

To stay the murd'rous deed? 
Where were their love and fortitude 

In this high time of need ? 
And where the healed in sight and limb, 

Who sought the Nazarene, 
And touched His garments full of faith 

That this would make them clean ? " 

** We are fighting yet His holy cause," 

A churchman stoutly said: 
" His name shall be our Shibboleth, 

Till all his foes are dead." 
And yet the grim barbarian 

Clutched hard his sword and cried, 
" Had I been there with three-score men 

Christ Jesus had not died — 

He'd not been crucified ! " 



HERE'S TO YOU, MY BROTHER. 

My friend and I — I love him — 
God bless the skies above him. 

Wherever 'neath their azure he may be — 
We were lads the time I speak of. 
And now we hear the creak of 

The frost that chills the branches of life's tree. 



OTHER VERSE. 71 

We wandered in the mountains, 
And we played beneath the fountains 

That tumbled down the overhanging steep, 
And we swam amid the driftings 
Of the autumn's somber siftings, 

From the trees of woodland pastures, neck deep. 

Then the winter came, and flurries 
Of the snow, in flights and scurries, 

Laid the ermine covers deep upon the earth; 
And the woods and halls were ringing 
With our happy shouts and singing, 

The echoes of the season's joy and mirth. 

But those years succeeding morrows 
Brought care, and age, and sorrows. 

And the struggles life allots to earnest men ; 
They are mountains that divide us, 
And the fountains oft deride us 

When we seek to bring dear boyhood back again. 

But the years have come unceasing. 
Bringing joy, and care, increasing. 

And there's compensation sweet within it all ; 
For love from loved ones found us. 
And that fond delight surrounds us, 

As a vine-clad, safe and flower-covered wall. 

So, here's to you, my brother ; 
Though far from one another, 



'?2 OTHER VERSE 

Let US drain the cup of good will from the brim, 
And thank dear God above us, 
That around are those who love us, 

While we sing, again, a cheering Christmas hymn. 



REFUGIUM. 

There is no sweeter song than this ; 
'Tis holy as a mother's kiss ; 
And, oh, what promising of bliss ! 

The song from Zion, bright and blest : 
Come unto me ; come unto me. 
All ye that labor weariedly, 

And I will give you rest. 

So said the Master long ago, 
And now 'tis heaven's song echo, 
Flung back from Zion's hills that glow. 

In golden splendor there on high ; 
A sweet and peaceful song of love, 
That comes as came the Jordan dove, 

God's token from on high. 

In gentle vibrance, on the strings 
Of human hearts, the music rings. 
And cheeringly an angel sings 

To them that labor, sore opprest : 
In time, beside the Great White Throne 
The Nazarene will claim His own. 

And He will give you rest. 



OTHER VERSE 73 

A CRITIC'S REWARD. 

Zo-i-lus was a critic, 

In very ancient days, 
And he dearly loved to pounce upon 

Another fellow's lays ; 
So to Apollo, one fine day, 

A fearful screed he took 
In which he'd torn the flinders 

From another fellow's book. 

" And could you find no good, at all ? " 

Apollo asked the critic. 
The latter rolled his milky eyes. 

And in a breath mephitic 
From long confinement, musty rooms, 

And places dank and sad, 
Declared himself : " I know no good ; 

'Tis mine to seek the bad." 

Then the god gave to the critic 
A bundle — with a laugh — 
" 'Tis wheat unwinnowed ; you may have, 
For your reward, the chaff." 



74 OTHER VERSE 

MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS. 

Where Nature's God hath roughest wrought 

Where spring the purest fountains ; 

Where, long ago, the Titans fought, 

And hurled, for missiles, mountains ; 

Where everlasting snows abide, 

And tempest clouds are driven 

Along the solid granite side 

Of yawning chasms, riven 

Deep in the Rockies' grandest pride. 

That lifts its head to Heaven ; 

Amid the wilds, where awful rise 

The giant peaks that fathom 

Night's starry depths and day's blue skies, 

And brood above the chasm, 

One monarch 'mongst the mighty hills 

Rears high his summit hoary. 

Like some grim king, whose legend fills 

A page of olden story, 

And heart o'erawes and soul enthrills, 

Before his regal glory. 

The Holy Cross of Christian faith, 
Above the royal velvet. 
In beauty shines, an emblem wraith, 
High on his beetling helmet ; 



OTHER VERSE 75 

Its white arms stretching through the sheen 

Of silvery mist, are gleaming ; 

A talisman, the world to screen, 

Hope's symbol, in its seeming ; 

A wonder grand, a joy serene, 

Upon the ages beaming. 



BABY'S MORNING. 

When morning comes and sunlight streams 

In tender, soft and golden gleams, 

And through the curtains' dancing beams 

Steal coyly in the room, 
My baby wakes in grave surprise, 
And turns her great and wondering eyes 
Toward the shimmering matin dyes 

That tint the lily bloom. 

'Tis double morn to thee, sweet one — 
The morn of day and a life begun — 
God grant thy day and life-time's sun 

May ever sweetly shine ; 
That happiness without alloy. 
That cannot fail or ever cloy, 
And brightest rays of purest joy. 

May bless each hour of thine. 



76 OTHER VERSE 

THE GOURD BESIDE THE SPRING. 

The gallant knight, in days of old, 

Sang gaily flagon songs ; 
The monarch drained his cup of gold 

And laughed his people's wrongs ; 
With goblets, flowing to the brim, 

Bacchantes drink their wine. 
But no alluring rosy rim 

Brings song to harp of mine. 

Yet notes of memoiy sweetly come 

In songs I love to sing. 
Of hearty^ healthy bumpers^ from 

The gourd beside the spring. 

The soldier loves his old canteen, 

And sounds in song its praise ; 
The lover toasts his mistress queen 

In wine-begotten lays ; 
The soul of poesy's outpoured 

Alike to cup and king, 
And all forget the brown old gourd 

They drank from at the spring. 

There's happiness in banquet halls, 

Amid the bright and gay, 
Where brilliant song the soul enthralls. 

And wit and wine hold sway ; 



OTHER VERSE YY 

But all the joys in memory stored 
No sweeter thought can bring 

Than those of draughts from out the gourd, 
With Nell, beside the spring. 



A LITTLE SHOE. 

Thar ain't much poetry, that's a fact, 

In a pa'r of worn out shoes. 
But I've seen truck agoin', that lacked 

As much of soul, or the muse. 

I've got a shoe, 'bout's big's my thumb, 

All gone at the heel and toe. 
That makes my poor old heartstrings thrum 

To the tune of long ago. 

It's the shoe of a little baby boy. 
Who was two or three worlds to me, 

He come and went, and took all the joy 
That ever I reckon to see. 

The mother that bore him went along. 
And it broke my heart in two ; 

Sometimes I hear her lullaby song 
When I'm holding that tiny shoe. 



78 OTHER VERSE 

And I hear the patter of wee small feet, 
That fitted it when it was new, 

But all that's left is the memory sweet 
And the little worn out shoe. 

Thar ain't no poetry, much, in this, 
But I think I've got the clue 

To a road that leads to a mite of bliss. 
If I follow this baby shoe. 



SANDY McCANN. 

To say that the hair of young Sandy McCann 
Was auburn, was putting it fine, for the man 
Had a head that just blazed, like the bird that 

we see 
A 'driving his bill in the cottonwood tree. 
But Sandy delighted to stray from his home 
And wander about 'neath the blue ether dome. 

'Twas thus it once happened, when near his life's 

prime, 
That Sandy was gone such a very long time — 
A decade or more — that his business and kin 
Much needed to know of the parts he was in. 
And thus the great search was so ably begun 
To find the locale of the wandering one. 



OTHER VERSE 79 

His Starting was traced to a place where a man, 
Had met on the Mexican border, McCann, 
And a girl with red hair, about sixteen or so, 
Said her father was Sandy, and ten years ago, 
As she had oft heard, from her mother's own 

mouth, 
Had shouldered his traps and had gone further 

south. 

So trav'ling along, through the land of the sun, 
Where people were gen'rally black-haired and 

dun. 
One day they brought up, with a well-founded 

joy. 

At a ranch where they saw a bright, red-headed 

boy. 
Whose name was McCann, but his father, he 

said. 
Left six years before and they thought he was 

dead. 

Undaunted, the searchers forwent needed rest 
And pushed further south, with their clue and 

their quest, 
'Till, worn out and hungry, one blazing hot day, 
Far down in Tabasco on Campeachy Bay, 
They ran into cover a red-headed child, 
Unkempt and disheveled, and very near wild. 



80 OTHER VERSE 

But Sandy, the papa, had traveled some more. 
So footsore and weary they turned from the 

shore, 
Back over the mountains and on to the plain, 
In hope to recover the trail once again, 
And fortune soon blest, with its fullness, their 

zeal, 
And turned threatened woe to the welcomest 

weal. 

On a rough, wooden bench, by a " dobey's " deep 

door. 
One eve, at the gloam, they saw Sandy once 

more. 
He trotted a red-headed babe on his knee. 
And sang an old song, with great gusto and glee, 
So this is the story, about as it ran, 
Of the fiery trail of one Sandy McCann. 



CHIQUITA, LA BONITA. 

Great black eyes, with look so tender. 
That they seem, almost, to weep ; 

Hand that's taper, brown and slender, 
Shades them, peering up the steep. 

From the " dobey " on the mesa, 
Where the sun forever shines. 



OTHER VERSE 81 

'Long the foothill, where the gazer 
Sees amid the tangled vines 
And the crooked manzanita, 
Su Chiquita ! 
La bonita. 

There's a little Mexic maiden, 

Golden-haired and eyes of blue, 
With the springtime flowers laden, 

Climbing down from where they grew. 
Dusky-haired and dark-eyed mother — 

Though mayhap the question's bold — 
Whence those eyes of some one other, 
Whence the shining locks of gold ? 
Tell me, handsome Josepheta, 
Of Chiquita, 
La bonita. 

Ah ! I see yon caballero, 

Riding thither down the trail — 
Now he lifts his broad sombrero, 
Shouts the Saxon's hearty hail, 
And the flax-haired caballero 

Has Chiquita' s eyes of blue, 
Shaded by his slouch sombrero 
Pretty answer that is, too. 
For the handsome Josepheta, 
And Chiquita, 
La bonita. 



82 OTHER VERSE 

MY MOTHER'S WEDDING RING. 

I remember when that circlet 

Was a heavy golden band, 
And how chastely rich it shone upon 

Her plump and pretty hand. 
As boy and man, I've often seen 

Pure gems, serene and rare, 
Gleam brightly on the same dear hand. 

So tender, true and fair. 

Those jewels, like the fleeting joys 

That come, and glow, and go. 
With all of Fortune's transient gifts, 

And many a weighing woe. 
Have gone, as go all friends and days. 

With every hope or care : 
But still the plain gold wedding ring 

Shines true and faithful there. 

Those dear, old hands are trembling now 

Beneath the weight of years 
And fragile, thin, has grown the band 

That linked her joys and tears, 
But to a loving, grateful son 

There is no blessed thing 
In all the world so holy as 

His mother's wedding ring. 



OTHER VERSE 83 

THE POET KING. 

A quiet man, of gentle face, 

Yet noble mien and courtly grace, 

To need and sorrow wed ; 
For lack of gold his worth untold, 
And jealous Fame speaks not his name, 

But waits till he is dead. 

He sat beside a limpid stream 
And saw its lucent waters gleam 

In jewels rich and rare ; 
And in the hue of Heaven's blue 
An angel face of gentle grace 

Was sweetly mirrored there. 

He saw the flowers bloom and blush 
From cordial morn till evening's hush. 

And listened to the lay 
Of cooing dove, so full of love. 
And drank the breeze that kissed the trees, 

In happy, hoyden play. 

He lived in contemplation high, 
Of all the glories of the sky. 

And sweetest lessons took 
From earth and air ; the bright and fair 
Of every place and age and race ; 

And read from Nature's book. 



84 OTHER VERSE 

And now he sits upon a throne, 
A monarch in a realm, his own, 

And holds the universe 
Within his grasp, with tender clasp, 
A regal king with soul to sing, 

But stript of scrip and purse. 

Now list the music of his shell. 
And hear his raptured accents tell 

Of pure and noble things. 
With minstrel's art and poet's heart, 
He fills the bowl that soothes the soul, 

And plays upon its strings. 



THE COMING MASTER. 

I sit upon my vine-clad porch, 

'Tis summer's ardent weather. 
And watch the breezes toying with 

The thistle's downy feather. 
My once brown hair is white as snow, 

My hands are thin and wrinkled. 
But better eyes have never yet 

In such an old head twinkled. 

A mile away, and up the road, 
I see a horseman riding ; 



OTHER VERSE 85 

He's handsome, even thus afar, 

His noble beast bestriding ; 
I see my daughter's tender look. 

As wistfully she gazes, 
And mother watching, 'neath her lids, 

The blush the rider raises. 

That gallant horseman coming here. 

So often at sun-setting. 
And mother's anxious looks with tears 

That oft her cheeks are wetting, 
Are signs to me, that, growing old. 

Some day I will awaken 
To find my place, as master here. 

By that young horseman taken. 



CANDO. 

Cando, the boy, was poet, heaven-born. 
For in his young life's fair and rosy morn 
The melodies of forest, hill and dale. 
The low, sweet song of wooing nightingale, 
The stillicide of snow and sleet and rain. 
The saucy echo's mocking, wild refrain, 
The buzzing of the honey-laden bees 
Among the bloom of peach and apple trees, 
And music from all nature softly stole 
To sweep the tuneful wind-harp of his soul. 



86 OTHER VERSE 

He climbed the mountain side, and saw the sea 
Come marching in to kiss the monarch's knee, 
And, in its slow and undulant retreat. 
Spread out its ermine carpets at his feet. 
The fair, the good, the beautiful and true 
Were to his rhythmic life poetic dew ; 
Fair Genius lent her brightest lamp to light 
His every step and bless his gladdened sight. 
And Cando sang in strong, ecstatic song. 
Of what he saw and heard, the whole day long. 

Thus as he sang, at every rounded pause 

His playmates clapped their rapturous applause, 

Till fierce Ambition seized the poet boy 

And stole away his adolescent joy. 

Onward to manhood, hand in hand with fame, 

Rushed Cando ; and the glory of his name 

Rang through the State, borne on the cadent 

breeze 
'Mid loud huzzas, and then across the seas ; 
Till in all lands, on every babbling tongue, 
The wonder of his dazzling fame was sung. 

Mellow and rich, ' from his enraptured shell. 
Glowing and strong, the sounding numbers fell ; 
He tuned no more a gentle harp to win 
The plaudits of his youthful kith and kin, 
But eager sought the tribute and acclaim 



OTHER VERSE 87 

Of them of high and mighty name and fame, 
Till strong he stood, in glory and command, 
And on a throne, magnificent and grand, 
Young Cando sat and gazed above the crowd, 
A monarch high, and laurel-crowned, and proud. 

From distance dim, beyond the mighty throng, 
Came faintly now the reaper's harvest song. 
No more heard he the loving voice of home. 
The tinkling herd-bell in the soft'ning gloam, 
And lusty crow of doughty chanticleer 
Were sounds too far for Cando's kingly ear. 
Fame's vibrant tongue had 'whelmed the homely 

strains 
Of Love's dear song and lullaby's refrains — 
He lived to learn that grand exalted state 
To lowly born is mockery of Fate. 

A MODERN TEMPLE. 

Not many short and fleeting years, 
With all their hopes, and joys, and fears, 
Have marched unhalting to the dead. 
With steady, stern and silent tread. 
Since o'er the hills and valleys here 
The red man chased the panting deer. 
And by the dark Missouri's tide 
The warrior wooed his dusky bride ; 



88 OTHER VERSE 

Not long ago, where now we stand, 
With blessings rich, on every hand 
The war-whoop through the forest rang. 
Among the pines the wild winds sang ; 
The screams of eagles in the air 
Met echo in the gray wolf's lair ; 
The bison, with his shaggy mane, 
Grazed, all unharmed, upon the plain ; 
The paddle of the light canoe 
Flashed where the water-lilies grew ; 
In Nature's garb the land was drest. 
From mountain's foot to craggy crest, 
And all was fresh, untouched and wild, 
The free home of the forest child. 

But soon, from toward the rising sun, 
Was heard the white man's axe and gun ; 
The forest bowed before his hand, 
And as a garden bloomed the land ; 
The ploughshare turned the virgin soil. 
And rich rewards repaid the toil 
Of every hardy pioneer 
Who built his humble cabin here. 
Fair cities decked the boundless west, 
And here, the fairest and the best 
Sprang up as if the builder's arm 
Was aided by a magic charm, 
And soon o'er hill, and vale and stream. 



OTHER VERSE 89 

Was heard the wild and starthng scream 
Of swiftly-flying, fire-fed steed, 
Dashing along at wondrous speed, 
And scattering here, far and near, 
Wealth and strength in his proud career ; 
And thus, among the gray foot-hills, 
Spires and homes, and shops and mills 
Have risen as though genii hands 
Had wrought where this fair city stands. 

The rarest of the glist'ning gems 

That deck the city's brow — 
The brightest in her diadem. 

Is this we're setting now ; 
And he who gave this temple name. 

Shall crown the beauteous queen. 
And coming years shall sing his fame 

And keep his memory green. 

Each lovely Muse, who has a place 

Within this temple grand, 
His dreams and waking thoughts shall 
grace, 

And bless his open hand ; 
For 'neath the sun, no fairer shrine, 

Since Delphi, lost so long, 
Was ever lifted to the Nine 

Of Art, and Soul, and Song. 



90 OTHER VERSE 

'Neath this broad dome, night after night, 

For many a coming year — 
'Neath all the golden, dazzling light. 

From yon bright chandelier — 
Shall come the man, the maid, the dame. 

To drink from Pleasure's cup, 
And see the actor strive for fame. 

And hold the mirror up. 

The walking thoughts of Avon's bard. 

His hero, king and clown. 
His guileless maid, and bearded pard. 

And monk, in cowl and gown, 
Shall often picture, on this stage, 

The passions, loves and hates. 
Of every nation, land and age 

Outside the pearly gates. 

The soldier, lady-love and king, 

Who came at Bulwer's call, 
Shall make their gallant speeches ring 

And echo through this hall ; 
And birds of song their notes shall trill 

'Mid orange groves and palms, 
And every heart shall feel the thrill 

Of music's potent charms. 



OTHER VERSE 92 

Here England's pursy knight shall wince 

Before the Windsor fays, 
And Denmark's melancholy prince 

Shall call his mimic plays, 
And handle Yorick's fleshless pate, 

And break Ophelia's heart. 
And taming handsome, shrewish Kate, 

Petruchio '11 play his part. 

Here Lear, "every inch a king," 

Shall wear his monstrous woes, 
And Juliet to her lover cling 

Till death's releasing throes ; 
Macbeth shall rue his murd'rous deeds 

In crime's entangling mesh. 
And Shylock, with revengeful greed, 

Demand his pound of flesh. 

And hunchback Richard, cruel, vile 

Shall meet his Richmond here, 
And on great Caesar's fun'ral pile 

Shall fall the Roman tear. 
The jealous Moor shall send above 

Sweet Desdemona's soul. 
And Pauline prove that woman's love 

Outweighs the power of gold. 



92 OTHER VERSE 

Bright tears of joy shall dim the eye 

For darling Jessie Brown, 
Who hears, while others 'round her die, 

The welcome slogan's sound. 
Here poor old Rip shall totter in 

To seek his little cot. 
And find how, in Life's rush and din. 

We are so soon forgot. 

The earth, the sky, the boundless sea, 

And every race and age. 
Before these scenes shall gathered be 

Upon this spacious stage. 
Here Pleasure with her smiles shall bring 

Surcease from daily cares. 
And dullen Sorrow's sharpened sting, 

And lift the woe she bears. 



CASTELAR. 

'Tis bitter to love her thus, he said ; 

'Tis bitter that she loves me. 
'Twere better to go where death hath led. 
Where war is cruel, and blood is shed — 

Far better than thus to be. 



OTHER VERSE 93 

She hath a lord of her own — is wed — 

Forsooth a man of low degree, 
But many a league of land outspread, 
He holds by a fief, inherited. 

And a vassal tenantry. 

I have a fief ; 'tis in my hand, 

A blade that did never rust. 
And east and west in every land, 
I held my own, with the trusty brand, 

But now it must sheathe in dust. 

Why do I linger about her gates ? 

I seldom see her, alas ! 
And who but a laggard mopes and waits 
By the window the wan moon tessellates 

To see her shadow pass ? 

The gold of her hair has tangled me. 

Yet I have never loved gold. 
The white of her throat, and the ivory 
Of her bosom, chained me in ecstacy 

When her lips the secret told. 

I envy the lily upon her breast, 

The rose in her shining hair ; 
I chide the sun who lags in the west ; 
I wait in the garden she loves the best — 

She promised to meet me there. 



94 OTHER VERSE 

I held her close in my arms last night ; 

Oh, the pain of stolen bliss ! 
She checked me with grief that was half delight, 
The loves that were wrong, the hearts that were 
right, 

Clung close in that pleading kiss. 

Her lord is brawny and strong of arm, 

But comely and kind, men say ; 
The brute that is in him may take alarm, 
When he knows her heart with its depth of calm 

Has passed forever away. 

Why tarries she yet } *Tis very late, 

And the night-bird bodeth ill ; 
But hist ! I hear by the oaken stair, 
Loud angry words — a cry of despair, 

Ah, God ! Now all is still. 

I knew no bars, I knew no bolts, 

I knew no doors of oak, 
I traversed the stairs and sounding floors ; 
The chambers were closed — the great carved 
doors 

Fell to a thunder-stroke. 

Oh, rose ! Oh, lily ! Oh, poor white dove ; 
And the blood-stain on her breast. 



OTHER VERSE 95 

And the parting lips still quivering — 
Great God, I heard rude laughter ring, 
By the cross, I stand confessed. 

By the rood, I saw his brutal bulk 

Stand midway in the door, 
'Twas hard to slay so strong a man. 
But I had slain the Saracen — 

And her blood cried from the floor. 

Little may vulgar strength avail 

'Gainst arm that's nerved with steel ; 
He lies at the foot of a carven knight — 
And I — I kissed her lips " Good night." 
Good night ! All peace, all rest go hence ; 
Good night to all but penitence. 



RENAISSANCE. 

'Twas in the fairest season of the year, 

That comes to where the yellow Tiber flows 

Southward, among Italia's sunlit hills. 

And when the sweetest bloom of Latium 
blows, 

With staff and dog I strolled along the streets, 
Then out, and far away from modern Rome 



96 OTHER VERSE 

Adown a fruit-tree shaded road that led 
Beside the walls of many a lordly home; 

Then on to Tusculum, the place where lie 
The moss-grown ruins of the gleaming pile 

That great Lucullus bravely built, ere yet 
The gentle Nazarene, with God's sweet smile, 

Had come to bless, and save the world, and die. 

I wandered 'mid the crumbling walls, and mused 

Upon the scenes that, centuries ago. 
Had been enacted there in luxury. 

And of the wealth and splendor, and the flow 
Of wit and wine among the Roman lords ; 

Of beauties of the time, in robes that clung 
In graceful folds about their faultless forms ; 

The singers, and the dulcet songs they sung, 
Where now the lizard and the winking toad 

Lived undisturbed, and vapors damp and dank 
Arose from rotting weeds and scum-hid pools, 

And where the gliding snakes, white bleached 
and lank. 
Slid in and out, in this their foul abode. 

Akimbo, 'mid the ruins, here and there, 

Stood broken marble columns, 'gainst the 
walls, 
And, tumbled from their niches, statues lay. 
Chipped and defaced, along the weed-grown 
halls. 



OTHER VERSE 97 

Upon a mound of crumbled stone, I spread 

My mantle out, and, half reclining there, 
Petted the dog, and fed him from my pouch. 

Then, drowsed by the warm and sluggish air, 
Fell fast asleep, my dumb friend guarding me. 

In fantasy of dreams I saw and heard 
Some strange and pleasing things of long ago. 

And memory caught and treasured every word 
And sign, of that ecstatic reverie. 

The white walls of the villa stood again, 

As high and clean as in the days before 
Decay's first touch had come to start the work 

Of ruin, and to break and topple o'er 
The towers tall, and tear the facades down. 

The breath of summer odors floated through 
The halls and corridors, and fountains sprayed 

Cool waters on the tropic plants that grew 
About their bases, and redoled the air 

With rich perfumes, the scent of gaudy bloom 
Half hid beneath the foliage darkly green. 

And silken curtains from far Asia's loom. 
In graceful drapings screened the portals there. 

Yet silence reigned, save the soft sighs of winds 
That rustled the rich hangings of the walls. 

And gently played, in listless, wanton mood. 
Where flowers bloomed within the frescoed halls. 



98 OTHER VERSE 

Deserted of all living things, an air 

Of mystery dim, as in cathedral aisles, 
Pervaded all, and ghostly shadows fell 

Athwart the bolts of light from day's bright 
smiles 
That shot in long and golden lances through 

The high and latticed transoms of the doors. 
Then day bowed low before the sable plume 

Of night that laid her moonbeams on the 
floors, 
And lent the shimmering light a softer hue. 

The statues stood again, upright, of gods, 

Of satyrs and of nymphs, within the place, 
And soon a babel 'rose of ancient tongues ; 

A revel of a Pantheistic race. 
Within an alcove, near to me, I heard 

A gross old bacchant tell, with laugh and 
sigh, 
A sweet young naiad, of a time one night 

When Horace with his Lesbia, drew nigh 
To him, and in his shadow kissed the girl. 

And wound his arm about her waist, and held 
Her head upon his breast, while breathing low 

The music of his poesy that welled 
Like silver fount, and pure as Oman pearl. 

" Think thou of that," he said, " and yet, per- 
force. 



OTHER VERSE 99 

I Stood as calm as marble statues must, 
But never will my memory lose the scene 

Till all of us have crumbled into dust. 
The Phrygian king, when standing to his lips 

In waters cool, with fruits above him hung, 
Dying of thirst and hunger, did not feel 

Such agony as then my spirit wrung. 
Oft when Lucullus gave a brilliant feast, 

A guest came near this marble form of mine. 
Goblet in hand, and I, a bacchant too. 

Could catch the fragrant odor of the wine. 
And think'st thou not Tantalus suffered least 1 " 

And other busts and statues held converse, 

Of poets, wits and sages, of the day 
When Rome sat proud upon her seven hills, 

And o'er the world, as mistress, held her 
sway; 
How at the sumptuous feasts within those halls. 

When rich Lucullus, wealthy from the spoil 
Of eastern victories, about him held — 

Far from the city's din and mad turmoil — 
The beauty and the chivalry of earth. 

They spoke of grand Maecenas, who was 
friend 
To young Lucretius, Virgil, and the rest. 

Whose rich and never-dying verse should lend 
Immortal name to Roman deeds and worth. 

LofC. 



100 OTHER VERSE 

I woke benumbed and chilled, for coming night 

Had brought its added dampness, and I found 
The dog had slain a score of venomed snakes. 

And some lay writhing yet about the mound. 
They'd sought to wound me as I slept, but that 

True friend, the trusty dog, had met them 
there. 
Else, with my classic dream, I'd been undone 

By reptiles that, like other cowards, dare 
Smite but the helpless ; and the vision taught 

A lesson — that, perchance, is old — to me : 
Build all you may, 'twill crumble into dust, 

But love, and thought, and song, will ever be. 
Though temples fall and riches come to naught. 



EASTER LILIES AND EASTER BELLS. 

Easter lilies and Easter bells ; 
Sweet the story their coming tells. 

Faith and Hope, the lilies sing; 

Peace unto the soul they bring. 
High, Salvation's anthem swells 
In the music of the bells. 

Easter lilies and Easter bells ; 

Sweet the story their coming tells. 



OTHER VERSE 101 

Pure and fair are the lilies of Easter ; 

Stately, and queenly, and white. 
Dulcet and deep are the bells that on Easter 
Chime, with the coming of light, 
The song and the story, 
The love and the glory. 
That live in the Kingdom of Right. 

Out of the song and the fragrance of Easter, 

Welcome, and blessed, and clear, 
Cometh the risen and glorified Master, 
Bringing glad words of good cheer, 
And work in the garden 
For them that seek pardon. 
With peace for the sorrowing here. 

Out in the meadows the lilies are blooming 

And deep in the vales and dells 
Brightly her sisters their sweet heads are lifting 
Under the Easter-tide spells. 
The spring birds are winging. 
And gaily are singing. 
The story the Magdalene tells. 

Out in the morning came Mary the Magdalene — 

Dew-damp of night in her hair ; 
Weeping and pale, in the first morn of Easter, 

Came she, faithfully, there. 



102 OTHER VERSE 

And herein's the story — 
Sweet Charity's glory — 
The story the lih'es declare. 

Out of the chiming of soft bells at Easter ; 

Out of the lily's perfume ; 
Out of the riot of birds of the spring-time ; 
Out of its myriad bloom 
Comes ever the story 
Of Christ's risen glory, 
That mantles with promise the tomb. 



TWO REVELS. 

In revel long they drink and sing ; 

The wassail bowl goes gayly round ; 
From songs of love and war and chase 

The ancient castle walls resound ; 
The corridors and rafters ring 

With echoes of the song and laugh ; 
The chimney blazes glint the cups 

That roystering gallants lift and quaff 
They sing the deeds of men agone 

And roar of comely lasses gay, 
Till reeling 'fore the goblet king 

They prone beside the benches lay. 



OTHER VERSE 103 

The sputtering lamps burn low and die ; 

The wabbling blazes staggering chase 
Across the scattered brands, that char 

Within the ample fireplace ; 
Deserted seems the ancient hall ; 

Uncanny in the fallen gloom ; 
And in the chill and dark that come 

Is lost the heavy wassail fume. 
The soughing winds sweep down the night ; 

A sorry cur, in doleful howl. 
Lends to the grewsome time his wail, 

Responsive to a hooting owl. 

But see ! Another light is there ; 

Unearthly, pallid, is its glow. 
And shadowy forms, in shimmering mail 

Renew the song and wassail flow. 
The song is hollow, soft and faint ; 

The wine is thin, the toasts are old ; 
And yet they prate of sires' deeds, 

And clash the goblets that they hold. 
Within the chimney-place a brand 

Spurts out a long and ruddy glare, 
And then these ghosts of men agone 

Flee from the sight thus shown them there. 



104 OTHER VERSE 

GIVE US, O! GOD, TO KNOW. 

O, Great Jehovah ! make it plain, 
To them that look to Thee, and fain 

Would wisely worship at Thy feet ; 
O ! give it us, great God, to know, 
Why must fair Progress travail so, 

To bring forth what for right, is meet ? 
O give us, God, to know ! 

Through Time, so far as mortal man, 
May backward, straining, barely scan. 

He sees the road of Progress barred 
By bigotry ; and bending low, 
The marplot deals his hindering olow. 

To check the forward march, and guard. 
Why ? give us, God, to know. 

The Nazarene, who came to give 
Salvation, that the soul might live. 

Met lash, and spear, and cross, and thorn, 
To bring Thy kingdom here below. 
His way was made a way of woe. 

Why, thus to us, should peace be borne.? 
O, give us, God, to know ! 

When in the throes of civil strife, 
This young republic fought for life ; 



OTHER VERSE 105 

Behind the field a carping gang, 
In right's pretense, a lurking foe. 
Stood in the light of battle's glow, 

And snarling, gnashed their fang to fang ; 
Why ? give us, God, to know. 

Ah, thus Thou movest, on the storm, 
Thine awful wonders to perform ; 

And, humbly, we accept Thy way. 
When, even now, the marplot's blow, 
Would lay Columbia stunned and low. 

That he, abashed, shall rue the day, 
O, give us, God, to know. 



** MISTLETOE." 

The poet-soul can see you, dear, 
Lost in the maze of one short year, 

Twining the mistletoe there. 
Pensive and still, hopeful and true. 
While memory sweetly sings to you. 

Soft and low as a vesper prayer. 

And one away on life's strong sea. 
Where manhood's ship rides high and free. 

Peers out across the surging tide. 
And hears the same sweet song, my dear. 
That comes to you adown the year — 

Looks out to you, his star and guide. 



106 OTHER VERSE 

He sees you in the brilliant glow 
Of Christmas, 'neath the mistletoe, 

And breathes the perfume of your hair ; 
He loves you as he loved you when 
He told you so, and kissed you then — 

He sees you sitting, pensive there. 

Then do not sigh again, my dear, 
He loves you truly ; never fear 

That aught may wile his heart from you. 
He'll come with one more Christmas day 
And kiss your anxious tears away 

As sunshine does the dew. 

From out the half-light — almost gloom — 
That grays the presence of your room. 

He'll bring the light of long ago, 
And with your head upon his breast, 
In love's delight, and peace, and rest. 

He'll kiss you 'neath the mistletoe. 



"BUFFALO BILL," A KNIGHT OF THE 

WEST. 

Who is this gallant cavalier that rides in from 

the West ? 
His horse, and gun, and trappings are the truest 

and the best ; 



OTHER VERSE 107 

He strides his noble thoroughbred with manly, 
easy grace, 

And sits the saddle like a sheik, and rides a rat- 
tling pace. / 

His hair falls white and long adown his shoul- 
ders strong and wide. 

And all his bearing has the poise of manliness 
and pride. 

A sovereign born and citizen of this fair Western 
land, 

He rose among his fellows in the custom of 
command ; 

His boyhood heard the wailing that was echo of 
the yell 

When the savage made the border seem the en- 
virons of hell ; 

With his dying father's spirit, his hunting-knife 
and gun. 

He drove the bronze barbarians into the setting 
sun. 

'Mong the willows by the river, on mesa, hill and 

plain. 
They fell beneath his horses' hoofs, and 'fore his 

leaden rain. 
Full well he wreaked his vengeance, and he 

blazed a Western path, 



108 OTHER VERSE 

With the weapons of his prowess and the scor- 
ing of his wrath. 

From Missouri's murky waters to the white 
Sierra's crest 

This knightly man led dauntless men and empire 
to the West. 

To save the name, and legends, and traditions of 

that land — 
The wilderness that blossomed — and its story, 

strange and grand, 
To the wondering sight of millions, and to sing 

its passing song, 
He led toward the Orient his motley, nomad 

throng, 
With their singing, and their dancing, their 

weapons and their ways. 
Their riding and their fighting in their tribe to 

tribe's affrays. 

From the canyons of the mountains to the can- 
yons of the deep. 

And to where the Eastern nations close guard, 
and jealous keep, 

The monuments and tokens of their ancient rule 
and state, 

There the gallant Western chieftain rode among 
the titled great, 



OTHER VERSE 109 

A fellow-prince among the kings, a sovereign by 

the right 
Of honest manhood, bred beneath high Liberty's 

clear light. 

Where the altars of the Druids and ancient ab- 
beys lie, 

'Neath forest-covered ruins, marking centuries 
gone by, 

And in places that are cobwebbed with history 
as old 

As Britain's first traditions, lying deep in must 
and mold, 

There the chieftain and his riders went, and held 
their hardy games 

To plaudits of the multitudes, lords, kings, and 
royal dames. 

By the Tiber, 'neath the shadow of St. Peter's 

lofty dome, 
The mighty pile that canopies the hierarch of 

Rome; 
'Mid monuments and masonry, that, crumbling 

in decay. 
Teach the vanity of empire, how weak and fleet 

its sway, 
Here rode the knightly plainsman, and his cabal- 

leros sang 



110 OTHER VERSE 

Where oft, in centuries agone, acclaim to Caesar 
rang. 

'Mong potentates and powers, in the cities of the 
kings, 

From where Mahomet's crescent across the Orient 
swings 

To where the North sea booms against old Den- 
mark's rugged shores. 

And back to where dear home-land opened wide 
to him her doors, 

Went and came the dashing horseman, and he 
bore the banner high 

That Freedom's heroes, for its weal, will dare, 
and do, and die. 

When by this mighty inland sea the great White 

City gleamed 
As radiant as mountain snows, the chieftain's 

banners streamed 
Above his wide encampment, and from every 

clime and land 
Came men to do him honor, and to grasp his 

manly hand. 
Even yet he leads his riders, and his lesson's 

high and strong, 
And so, saluting him, I sing this heartful, homely 

song. 



OTHER VERSE \\\ 

THE MODERN STEED. 

In olden time my gran'dad's horse 

Stood patient at the gate, 
And sometimes at a post, in town, 

Throughout the day, he'd wait ; 
For gran'dad brooked no teUing when 

'Twas time for him to go ; 
And though 'twas said that he was fast. 

Times were when he was slow. 

For politics, he had a turn — 

Not as a candidate — 
And when he argued on that line 

The waiter waited late ; 
And he believed his faithful horse 

Adopted all his creed, 
And felt content to wait, all night, 

Bereft of drink and feed. 

And though gran'dad was passing kind, 

'Twas plain upon its face 
That often he forgot his horse 

And all the equine race. 
Full many times — though but a boy — 

I felt for that old bay. 
Who shivered many a stormy night, 

And sweltered many a day. 



112 OTHER VERSE 

So, when I grew to be a man, 

I vowed that I would be 
More careful of the horse I rode 

And faithfully served me ; 
No empty stomach should he have, 
• No flies should sting and goad 

The goodly steed that I would have 

To bear me on the road. 

Today I ride with greater ease 

Than gran'dad ever knew, 
And make the miles along the road 

As he could never do. 
My horse is " tired," I'll admit. 

The livelong day and night. 
And yet his gait is just the same, 

And he as fresh and bright. 

He goes forever and a day. 

And never wants a feed, 
But often needs a rubbing down — 

This tireless " tired " steed. 
Yet, when my horse gets out of wind, 

He stops right then and there. 
And one must blow for such a horse 

A fresh supply of air. 

He runs with people who are wise. 
Yet he is often green ; 



OTHER VERSE 113 

Tho' sometimes black, he's always light ; 

And it is daily seen 
That though he goes the swiftest pace, 

He cannot stand alone, 
And though he'll live a hundred years. 

He has no flesh or bone. 

This horse will carry anyone, 

Who first has learned to ride, 
But down he lies with other folk ; 

And, lest you think I've lied. 
Pray let me, now, his tale unfold, 

And close this double deal ; 
I sing the steed that needs no feed, 

The^z;/ de siecle wheel. 



THE STORM KING. 

A ship sailed out on the open sea ; 

'Twas gallant, strong and daring, 
And it rode as brave as knight, and he 

To win armorial bearing. 
With heart that throbs in Titan form, 

The great ship seemed as living. 
And out of the calm and into the storm 

It rode without misgiving. 



114 OTHER VERSE 

Then came a roar of awful rage — 

The bellow of the thunder ; 
A monarch's challenge and his gage, 

That broke the clouds asunder ; 
And leapt his weapon from its sheath, 

Its gleam the darkness bright'ning^ 
The shuddering ship sank dead beneath 

A glittering blade of lightning. 



BOHEMIA'S REST. 

I met a gray old man, one night, 
And he was worn and pale ; 

Yet his heart was light, 

And his eyes were bright 
When he told his curious tale. 

The old man's garb was worn to threads, 
His hair and beard were rimed 
With the frost of age. 
And he seemed a sage, 
With wisdom's lessons primed. 

Bright Culture's garland crowned his brow. 
And 'neath his humble guise 

Was a noble heart ; 

And the love of art 
Shone from his twinkling eyes. 



OTHER VERSE ] 15 

'Twas at the festal board that night, 
Within Bohemia's shade, 

The wassail bowl 

Had warmed his soul 
And edged his wit's keen blade. 

" There was a time," he softly said, 
" In the sweet-not-long-ago. 
When I'd compare 
In debonair 
With all the best we know. 

" The good Lord had been kind to me, 
And bountiful were mine 
His blessings fair, 
With not a care, 
And life was sparkling wine. 

" In bright Bohemia's gladsome ways 
I walked with genial souls. 
And earth was mine, 
In gladsome shine, 
From tropics to the poles. 

" I reveled with the gay and brave. 
In mazes of delight, 

And wore the braid 

Of one fair maid 
Won as a loyal knight. 



116 



OTHER VERSE 



" I went to war and flashed my sword, 
In battle's garish blaze, 

And won renown. 

Aye, e'en a crown — 
The soldier's wreath of bays. 

" I stood within the forum then. 
And won the strong applause 

Of gallant men 

And trenchant pen. 
For that I'd won a cause. 

" With health and wealth and high emprise, 
I gave to others fame ; 

By poet's art 

I thrilled the heart. 
And earned exalted name. 

" With hand on lever of the press 
I built a city where 

Primeval stood 

A mighty wood 
And cougars had their lair. 

"■ I sent to legislative halls 
A knavish parvenu, 

Who, overfed 

On what I'd said, 
A monstrous patron grew. 



OTHER VERSE 117 

" That sculptor of the olden time, 
Who with a godlike art 
Carved into life 
A minx of strife, 
Who broke his loving heart, 

" Did better far than this, for he 
Could proudly say, at least : 
* Its beauty's there ; 
'Tis strong and fair' — 
My mold was but a beast. 

" The city grew at such a pace 
That I was lost therein ; 

The smallest clown 

Within the town 
Would pass me with a grin. 

" My spirit, enterprise and zeal 
Were all forgotten, quite. 
And men, for self, 
To gather pelf 
Had squeezed me out of sight. 

" But here, within these classic halls, 
With loving friends I meet, 
In royal fete 
The * third estate,' 
In art and soul's retreat." 



118 OTHER VERSE 

A GENTLEMAN. 

He could not be so poor that he would hate the 
rich, 
Nor yet so rich that he despised the poor. 
He is so brave and just, that not a turn nor 
hitch, 
In all of fortune's winding way, could lure 
Him to an act or thought of vile ingratitude. 

He's true unto himself, and thus to every man, 
And has that courage, high, and grand, and 
strong, 
That comes with kindness, and with honor leads 
the van 
To help the right, and sternly punish wrong ; 
To strip injustice till it shivers, shamed and 
nude. 

He seeks the culture that, refining, gives a grace 

And comfort to himself and those around ; 
He has not ostentation, nor would he abase 
Himself to thus become a monarch crowned. 
Clean comes his thought, and from his hand 
a brother's grip. 

He comes from anywhere — aye, e'en from 
Nazareth — 



OTHER VERSE HQ 

From north and south, and from the east and 
west; 
He comes as comes the cool and grateful breeze's 
breath. 
He need not be an angel from the blest, 
He might be, thus, too good for man's com- 
panionship. 



DON'T SAW YOURSELF OFF OF A 

LIMB. 

There was a young man who climbed up a tree, 

And he was as healthy as healthy could be ; 

But now he's a sight that is sorry to see, 

And, oh, I would hate to be him ! 

He was pruning the tree to encourage its health. 
To make it bear better, and swell his own wealth, 
But sorrow came to him, wolf-like in its stealth. 
When he sawed himself off of a limb. 

The man who is doing quite well at his trade, 
Should always stick to it, and not be afraid 
That Fortune, the fickle and fussy old jade. 
Can injure his chance in the swim. 

But when he lets go what he knows how to do, 
And jumps into something that's too very new. 



120 OTHER VERSE 

He finds himself done m a pretty hot stew — 
He has sawed himself off of a limb. 

It pays to be honest, and active, and true ; 
To pay unto Caesar whatever's his due ; 
And always on honor to tighten your clew, 
Then do what you do with a vim. 

But if ever you make with your good name a 

slip ; 
On every-day decency let go your grip, 
You'll find yourself flat on the devil's black hip — 

You have sawed yourself off of a limb. 

The man who is healthy and wealthy, if wise, 
Will never the poor and the humble despise ; 
For his money might feather, take wings and 
arise, 

And drop him to earth with a bim ! 

And then when he feels of his bruises and breaks 
And thinks of the number and sort of mistakes 
A fool with a pile that's too big for him makes, 
He knows he's sawed off of a limb. 

Be true to yourself, and as certain as fate, 
You'll always be going a good winning gait, 
And blessings will fall on your frosty old pate 
When age makes your peepers grow dim. 

And then at the end of your life's little span 
You'll smile at the way things promise to pan, 
And die a contented and happy old man. 

Who was never sawed off of a limb. 



OTHER VERSE 121 

ONE MORE VALENTINE. 

Long I've told you, once a year, 

Sweet, my valentine, 
How I've loved you, honey, dear, 

How for you I pine. 
I have rhymed you every way ; 

Called you Columbine, 
Swore you were my night and day. 

Asked you to be mine, 
Sweet, my valentine. 

And I've called those lasses up — 

All the Muses, Nine ; 
Had them with me drink and sup, 

Sweet, my valentine ; 
Begged them help me, little one. 

At the nuts and wine, 
Write a song that, when 'twas done, 

Love would through it shine, 
For my valentine. 

By the altar of thy beauty ; 

At thy virgin shrine. 
Have I knelt in loyal duty. 

Praying you'd be mine; 
And I've sworn the form of Hebe 

Was not so divine, 



122 OTHER VERSE 

Nor had she, fair Queen of Sheba, 
Near such grace as thine, 
Sweet, my valentine. 

Once a year, I've sent you, darling, 

Such a song and sign ; 
Made your voice outvie the starling ; 

Lips like ruby wine. 
Now, I'd make this one day all days, 

And, sweet valentine. 
Ask you to be my loved one always. 

Mine, and only mine ; 
My own valentine. 

Yes, I wish all intervening 

Days could brightly shine 
On our love, and ever meaning. 

Just one valentine. 
So that thus 'twill be forever, 

Love of mine and thine 
Shall grow closer yet together, 

Clinging as a vine, 

Sweet, my valentine. 



OTHER VERSE 123 

ON THE SUMMER SEA. 

I have a little sweetheart, a dear, winsome 
beauty, 
Who lives by the lakeside, but where, I'll 
not tell. 
I owe her my fealty, my best love and duty. 
And the vows I have made her I'll keep 
true and well ; 
As truly as lovers in days of old story. 
When knights were the boldest and bar- 
ons were strong ; 
Her love is my day-star, my pride and my 
glory. 
And in its sweet service I sing her this 

song. 

There is many a maiden whose smiles I 

still cherish, 
Whose laugh was as music the sweetest 

to me, 
Whose friendship I hold where it never 

shall perish. 
But none have I loved like this maid of 

the sea. 
She comes to me flying across the white 

riftings 



124 OTHER VERSE 

Of sands by the lakeside, to where, in 
my boat 
I am waiting the lassie, and then we go 
drifting, 
The happiest lovers on earth or afloat. 

From her hair, where the sunlight so cheer- 
ily dances 
To feet that are dimpled, and shapely, 
and bare 
My love is my life, and its worth she 
enhances 
By her's that's so artless, and honest, 
and rare. 
I'm sure 'twould be happiness, true and 
unfailing. 
If that pretty maiden could always with 
me. 
Go loving and laughing, and singing and 
sailing, 
Through all of my journey on Life's 
changeful sea. 



OTHER VERSE 125 

BE FAIR AND JUST, MY SON. 

When all the laws and proverbs known to man, 
And made to guide him in the right, 

Are blent, and sublimated into one. 

Shall come, as bright as God's white light, 
" Be fair and just, my son." 

Therein lies faith, and charity, and hope, 
With honor, truth, and love, and peace ; 

In that may good be ever nobly done ; 
It brings to human joy, increase. 

Be fair and just, my son. 

Rise high above the scrambling mob, that stoops 
To gather gear, that comes by greed. 

Enough, and some to spare, is better won 
As industry and honor's meed. 

Be fair and just, my son. 

That grim misfortunes often lash the best, 

As with the chastening rod, 'tis true ; 
But wrong, though long its course may smoothly 
run. 
Will meet, at last, its dire due. 

Be fair and just, my son. 

So taught the gentle Nazarene, and so 
The greatest men the world has knov/n, 



126 OTHER l^ERSE 

From Moses, Orange, and our Washington 
And Lincoln, hath the precept shone : 
" Be fair and just, my son." 

It lifts the soul and purifies the heart 
'Twould make the world a paradise ; 

'Twould end all war and silence every gun ; 
Virtue would reign above dark vice. 
Be fair and just, my son. 



GO EASY. 

An old gray man on an old gray horse 

Came riding down the lane ; 
Said the old gray man to the old gray horse 
"Your gait gives me a pain." 

Said the old gray horse to the old gray man 
" You've grown so plaguey thin. 
You don't know when your seat is soft, 
And that's the fix you're in." 

" I'll teach you better talk than that," 
Said the old gray man, quite huff; 
And he beat that old gray horse full hard 
With his stick so long and tough. 



OTHER VERSE i27 

The old gray horse reared up in front, 

And then kicked up behind ; 
The old gray man fell off in the mud, 

And much distraught in mind. 

Said the old gray horse to the old gray man, 
With a long and horsey smile : 
' You'll find that seat full soft enough," 
And he trotted many a mile. 

The old gray man walked home that night, 

The horse no supper got. 
They growled no more from thence, I ween, 

But lived in peace, I wot. 



TWO DEAD. 

Tis pitiful to see a man at life's mid-day, 

Dead and undone, a lump of pallid helpless clay; 

He that was strong and brave, and lovin^-, and 
alert, ^ 

Lost to his friends ; his heart and hand and art 
inert. 

And over this we weep and sigh and long repine ; 

Above it, build a tomb and plant a mournin^^ 
vine. *^ 

Mayhap, in story he's embalmed to keep him 
near. 



128 OTHER VERSE 

And all that may be done is done, to veil his 

bier. 
Aye, bitter 'tis, indeed, that men must pass 

away, 
And buried be in living hearts and in the clay. 

'Tis pitiful to see a man at life's mid-day 

With all ambition gone ; the weak and nerveless 

prey 
Of baseless fears, or indolence ; full well content 
To have the shining days that God has kindly 

sent. 
Go trooping by, nor find amid them all, not one 
In which some worthy work may worthily be 

done; 
Who caring not for all the duties men may owe 
Each other here, recks not of human weal or 

woe. 
'Tis better to be dead and buried out of sight 
Than dead, and buried not ; a useless, idle wight. 



THE TIGER'S CUB. 

The tiger's cub was gentle, and it played with a 

little child ; 
Its feet were velvet cushions, and its brown eyes 

meek and mild. 



OTHER VERSE 129 

The changes came so softly that its playmate 

had not seen 
The cruel claws in velvet, and the brown eyes 

glinting green. 
The child is lying, mangled, in the fierce and 

reeking jaws, 
For the tiger's cub has torn him, 'neath his 

velvet-hidden claws. 

I knew a youth of strength and truth. 

And mien of a manly man, 
Who marched along, with laugh and song, 

In Pleasure's troop and van. 
High hope was his, and noble aim ; 

He sealed a lover's vow, 
And climbed the dazzling steeps of Fame, 

Where Fortune kissed his brow. 

The way was bright, his heart was light. 

And friends by legion came 
In joyous throng, to swell his song, 

And echo his sounding fame. 
They lifted high the bowl, and drank 

His health in sparkling wine, 
Amid the bloom of the primrose bank, 

And under the shading vine. 

In shade of vine, from lees of wine, 
A mocking monster came. 



130 OTHER VERSE 

And seized the boy, amid the joy 

And lustre of his fame. 
The wanton demon dashed the drink 

With poverty and dread, 
And drove the youth to ruin's brink — 

The singing troop had fled. 

With leers and limps, the comrade imps, 

In howl, and grin, and yell, 
Tore at his soul, his manhood stole, 

And dipped him deep in hell. 
'Mid horrors that no mortal tongue 

Could ever tell aright. 
They dragged his life and, screaming, flung 

His honor into night. 

The tiger's cub was gentle, and it played with a 

little child ; 
Its feet were velvet cushions, and its brown eyes 

meek and mild. 
The changes came so softly that its playmate 

had not seen 
The cruel claws in velvet, and the brown eyes 

glinting green. 
The child is lying, mangled, in the fierce and 

reeking jaws. 
For the tiger's cub has torn him, 'neath the 

velvet-hidden claws. 



OTHER VERSE 131 

JIM MARLINSPIKE. 

Jim Marlinspike was a castaway, 

On a far-off island shore ; 
He floated there on a banjo box, 

And a shirt was all he wore — 
If you should bar a startled look, 

And a pain that then was his, 
For too much damp had left with Jim 

A touch of the rheumatiz. 

But Jim was a man of "Tapley " stripe, 

And when things worried him, 
He always looked at the pleasant side, 

For that was the way with Jim, 
And so it gave him joy, indeed. 

When on that lonely shore. 
He found his banjo in the box — 

He asked for nothing more. 

Some would'er pined for a bite to eat, 

Or a suit of hand-me-downs, 
But Jim just played his old banjo, 

And laughed at Fortune's frowns. 
The trade winds played at hide-and-seek 

With the skirt of Jim's brief shirt, 
But he sat on a rock and played banjo. 

And he played it, too, right peart. 



132 OTHER VERSE 

The pine trees there were pine enough 

For such a man as him ; 
Not a soul on land, nor one on sea, 

Was a'bothering much of Jim. 
The most contented man on earth. 

Or, eke upon the sea. 
Was that same jack-tar, Marlinspike, 

With his banjo on his knee. 

Old Crusoe pined for lots of things 

When in that selfsame fix ; 
He wanted friendship, home, and such, 

To Jim all these were "nix." 
He'd never known where he was born. 

And what's more, didn't care. 
And friendship he had seemed to think 

Was a thing that didn't wear. 

Therefore he stayed and gaily played 

To whales and little fish ; 
And old Saint Tony never had 

A crowd more to his wish. 
At last one day, his G string broke, 

And with that came a pain 
That broke his heart, for now he thought. 

He'd never play again. 

So then he pined, from day to day, 
A sorely troubled soul ; 



OTHER VERSE 133 

How glad he'd given his very last shirt 

To make the G string whole. 
He pined for a place where he could buy 

Another such a string; 
But hope was lost and Jim sat down 

His death song for to sing. 

A tender-hearted monster heard 

Poor Marlinspike's sad wail — 
The great big mammal-fish that's called 

The true and righteous whale ; 
And straight away his whaleship went, 

Right down to Whatcom flats, 
And swallowed there a gunny-sack, 

Cramfull of all size cats. 

The G cat and the B cat too. 

Likewise the slender E, 
And wire to make the big A strings, 

A cargo full, took he. 
And then he hied him fast away. 

To Jim's lone island shore. 
And threw his string-truck on the beach 

And laughed till he was sore. 

Now when Jim Marlinspike beheld 
What this good whale had done 

He knew that 'mong the mammal sort 
A real friend he'd won. 



134 OTHER VERSE 

He wiped his red and weeping eyes, 
And tuned his shell once more, 

And Jim is playing yet, I think, 
Upon that island shore. 



A MEMORY AND A TEAR. 

'Tis noon of night, and from a long, lone walk, 
I've come to sit me down and meditate ; 
To croon and ponder, musing with myself ; 
To mumble in an old man's piping way. 

That walk had been a hard and weary one, 
Had I been 'companied by other thoughts 
Than those that held me as I strolled adown 
The wintry street — the hushed and quiet street, 
Save for the restless wind, that blowing light. 
Listless and wanton, thro' the bare-armed trees. 
Made music fitting to my reverie, 
So deep, and reaching to the past. 
That being once again a boy, my limbs 
Forgot the years they've marched along beside 
Since lusty youth, in roseate glow, was mine. 

In all the years, since then, I've seen the world 
On many sides, and felt its jagged points, 
As rolling in swift motion, on its poles. 



OTHER VERSE 135 

It grinds the face of those who do not wear 
Protecting Fortune's mask, impierceable. 

I've sat within the shade of orange groves, 
And heard in low and sweet and witching strains, 
Some far-off music, as of siren songs. 
Weird-like, from wooded shores of placid lakes. 
Soft o'er the listening waters steal along. 

I've borne the cold of arctic heights, and dragged. 
Half famished, o'er the sands of desert plains, 
And strove in solitude among the wilds 
And gloom of desolation lost. 

I've stood upon a lonely isle, far out 
Amid the sea, and yearning, hopeful, watched 
The waste to catch a sight of saving sail. 
And day by day saw, but with growing dread, 
The crawling canyons of the deep upheave. 

But in it all I've had a holy, sweet, 

And blessed memory to 'bide with me — 

My strong young manhood's first and cherished 
love. 

And here's a great and faithful tear ; one lone. 
True, tender friend, of bright and bygone years 
That, some decades ago, held in their arms 
The long-lost love that I beheld tonight, 



136 OTHER VERSE 

So far away, and yet so vividly, 
Adown life's wonder-sided vista dim. 

Welcome thou art, my fellow mourner, here 
Beside the grave of buried hopes ; welcome, 
Thou sweet and pure good comforter of mine ; 
And mayst thou come again some time, to me, 
For with thee comes a gentle, tender touch 
Of pity for Myself, that softeneth, 
As with an angel's kind and soothing ways, 
A heart that hath no other pain so sweet ; 
A heart that crying, bleeding with it all. 
Hugs the strong anguish, for the blessed joy 
It gave, when that young love was all the world, 
And heaven, so pure it was, and blissful. 



HIS ANGEL SLEPT. 

Fair of face and debonair ; 
Unbound sheaves of shining hair ; 
Open throated, winning eyes; 
Lives 'neath never-clouding skies : 
Soul that's ever moulding art ; 
True and brave, with tender heart ; 
Takes the great world as it goes ; 
Loves the pansy and the rose ; 

Finds in every flower honey ; 

Hates the miser and his money. 



OTHER VERSE 13 V 

High of mind and clanly proud ; 
Shrinks he from the rabble crowd ; 
Shuns the herd and loves his friends ; 
Scorns the truckling soul that bends ; 
Holds the sparkling goblet high; 
Lowers it and drains it dry ; 
Guardian angel of the boy 
Watch with him through every joy; 

Ward off dangers that environ ; 

Let thy wand be rod of iron. 

'Mid the music and the bloom, 

Soft caresses and perfume, 

Where the fountains plash and play, 

Where, though light, 'tis never day, 

For the day is his in sleep ; 

Dreaming dreams while reapers reap, 

Poet-born, with fancy bright, 

Plays and works he in the night ; 
With no passion mezzo-graded. 
All sun-bright or somber-shaded. 

Cold the winter wind now blows, 
Lying deep the winter snows ; 
Hard and frozen is the way 
Where he's wandering astray. 
And the morning drives the dark 
From the spot where, lying stark. 



138 OTHER VERSE 

He who had been guarded well, 
At the hand of demons fell — 

Through the shadows came they creeping ; 

Worn, his angel guard was sleeping. 



THE WOMAN OF THE MOON. 

There's a portrait of a woman on the moon, 
It is graven on the shining silver disc ; 

It's a face that has the tint of lily roon. 
And the bas-reliefs as cameo or bisque. 

She's as handsome as a rose in early June, 

This fair and lovely woman of the moon. 

A mystery's this portrait on the moon 

That was graven by the Master hand above ; 

'Tis a mystery as deep as ancient rune, 

And perplexing as the woman that we love. 

She is fairest in the autumn night's high noon. 

This pure and lovely woman of the moon. 

It was erst a man we pictured in the moon ; 

It is better that a woman should be there, 
With the roses and the lilies 'round her strewn, 

And the light of heaven, shining on her hair. 
When the one we love is absent we may croon 
To the lovely woman graven on the moon. 



OTHER VERSE 139 



A TALISMAN. 



What uses had he for all these — 
This ring-locked, rusty bunch of keys ? 
Ah ! this one closed his vault of wine ; 
And this one opened up the mine 
From whence he took the store of thought 
That here are in his writings wrought. 
But this ! Why, here, he held his life ! 
This was his latch-key, and his wife 
Has thanked dear God to hear it turn. 
Its place is 'mong the ashes in his urn. 



CHICAGO. 



AN EPIC. 



The Visigoth and Vandal hordes that rushed 

Across, in trampling force, and savage mood, 
The breadth of ancient Europe's continent, 

Trod lighter than the wild and ruthless brood, 
That in fierce raid bore down from bleaker lands, 

To sweep the mild Algonquin from the fields 
Of fertile Illinois, that grateful teemed 

In rich abundance, and whose lavish yields 

Were noised afar. 'Twas thus the spoiler came 
To lay, in blood, the savage victor's claim. 



140 OTHER VERSE 

Beside the mighty inland sea, that laves 

The northern shores and bounds of Illinois, 
As stand, in fields, the fall-time shocks of corn, 

So stood the wigwams of the Iroquois ; 
And harbored in the river's sluggish mouth, 

Lay rocking where the water-lilies grew, 
And lightly on the stream, in huddled fleets. 

And myriad, the Indian's bark canoe ; 

A war-bent host in sullen camp was there. 
And threatful as the couchant panther's glare. 

Where erst the docile Inini had chased. 

Through stream, and wood, and on the meadowed 
plain. 
The panting deer and shaggy buffalo ; 

And where, amid the fields of waving grain, 
Fed feathered flocks; where were content, and peace, 

And happy homes, the fell invader swept. 
The tranquil villages were razed to earth ; 

Thousands were slain, and sore a nation wept. 
Despoiled and driven forth, strong men were 

cowed, 
And down to dust a mighty people bowed. 

Among the maidens of the Inini 

Were none more beautiful in face and form 
Than youthful Wat-chee-kee, whose loveliness 

Outvied the western sky, when by the storm 



OTHER VERSE 141 

It had been swept, leaving no trace of cloud 

And when the setting sun had lit that space 
In gold and crimson glory ; and the limbs 

Of Wat-chee-kee were lithe and curved in grace ; 
Light was her step as hunting cougar's tread ; 
Her glowing eyes a star-bright luster shed. 

Vanquished, the Inini watched from afar, 

With listless soul, the orgies of his foe, 
And saw him dance in revelry about 

The flames that laid his looted dwelling low. 
Then came fair Wat-chee-kee, of Hashing eye. 

Among the daunted warriors to plead. 
Beseeching them to rise and strike while night 

Lent aid, and deep caroused the foe in greed. 
Yet sullen sat the broken Inini, 
Engloomed and overcast as wintry sky. 

Then turned the maiden to the women there, 

With blazing words that begged them shame to 
fight 
The craven, miscalled braves. Up rose the squaws, 

A host of armed amazons, bedight 
In plumes and soldierly arrayed, to dash 

Against the enemy. Wat-chee-kee led. 
And seeing this, the men bestirred themselves. 

So marched the motley band, with silent tread, 



142 OTHER VERSE 

And crushed in deep defeat the Iroquois, 
Who wildly fled the lands of Illinois. 

Where raged the battle fiercest on that field ; 

Amid the foremost, focal blaze of fight ; 
In righteous anger for her people's wrongs, 

The maid, with cheeks aglow, and eyes as bright 
And gleaming as incessant lightnings are 

Among the storm clouds of the night, was first ; 
And as the nodding helmet of Navarre, 

Her form shone where revenge could slake its thirst, 
Thus, ere was heard the song of morning lark. 
Proud victory kissed this Indian Joan of Arc. 

The years, in stately decades, passed along ; 

To gentle Peace, grim War had bent him low, 
And in the horizon his sable plume 

Had, northward, disappeared, and now the bow 
Sped arrows only in the chase, or when 

The youths and warriors, to match their craft, 
At targets drove the whirring dart, and vied 

To send afar, and high, the feathered shaft, 
Fast filled the woof within the loom of fate. 
Where now the Indian lover wooed his mate. 

From far off lands, across the mighty sea. 

Whose bosom bore the glowing orb of day, 
That Great Manito sent to light the earth. 



OTHER VERSE 143 

Came strange and pale-faced men, who sought a 
way 
To other lands behind the setting sun, 

And far beyond the red men's furthest ken. 
'Twas pearls, and gold, and precious stones, they 
craved ; 
And 'mong them came some pure and gallant men, 
As brave Moreau, Perrot, and Joliet, 
Tonti, La Salle, and pious Pere Marquette. 

Beside the Calumet, a limpid stream. 

Lay long encamped the vanguard of the host 
That from the old world's teeming multitudes 

Came hitherward, where stands the pride and boast 
Of all the shining cities of the earth, 

That live and flourish since the ancient day 
When Rome sat on her seven clustered hills. 

To hold, as mistress proud, her regal sway ; 
And this was *' Getchi-ka-go," in the song 
Of Inini, " great, beautiful and strong." 

To all the region of the Inini, 

For France, and in her robber monarch's name, 
Amid Te Deums loud, and by the cross 

And churchly rite, the voyageurs laid claim. 
Then came the hordes of monstrous greed and crime 

From Europe's shores, and all their vices spread, 
In vile contagion, 'mong the native tribes ; 



144 OTHER VERSE 

Thus stalking Wrong, with hard and cruel tread, 
Crushed low the tender blades of fair intent ; 
Then savage whoop with victim's wail was blent. 

Meantime the good Marquette and brave La Salle — 

The one, religion's zealous devotee, 
The other, blazing empire's rugged way — 

Fought gallantly the fight, till fate's decree 
Sent both, untimely, to a tragic end ; 

La Salle beside the Mexic gulf laid low. 
From ambush, by a vile assassin's hand ; 

And Marquette, where Manistee's waters flow, 

While homeward bound, to seek from pain 

surcease, 
A soldier in the holy war of peace. 

Southward, along Lake Michigan's wild shores. 

Deep silence reigns again, save when in fight 
The warring natives meet, and weapons ply 

That give, but dully forth, the sounds when might 
Braves might, to strive upon the battlefield. 

High up, the eagle, listless in the air. 
Lies poised and motionless, on outstretched wing, 

And safely sleeps the wolf beside his lair ; 
Unharmed on yonder plain the bison feeds. 
And softly flov/ the waters 'mong the reeds. 

But lo ! what wondrous sight is that away 
Upon the swelling bosom of the lake ? 



OTHER VERSE 145 

A big canoe, with wide and snow-white wings. 

Let all that was so still and dull awake. 
The Anglo-Saxon comes, and, faith, he bears 

The key to treasure vaults — strong enterprise — 
Before him hindrance fails, and where he halts 
Resources yield, and throbbing cities rise. 
Columbia sends a hardy host, and bold. 
To raze, to build, to conquer and to hold. 

So here arose the walls of Dearborn fort, 

And close about, the hopeful pioneer 
His cabin built, and earnest laid his plans 

For fortune, health, increase and goodly cheer. 
A village grew apace, and promise shone 

Effulgent where the wilderness had stood ; 
Here traffic blazed its never-halting way. 

And fell before the axe the ancient wood ; 

The plowshare turned the deep and virgin soil, 
And rich reward marched side by side with toil. 

But ever 'gainst enlightenment's advance, 

Stands, stubborn, stern and threatening, a foe ; 
The best must always fight its opening way. 

And gain its goal through trial, hate and woe. 
Beside the just and noble ones, who came 

To civilize the western wilds and raise 
The structure of exalted state, were knaves 

Of every mean degree, and shape, and phase, 



140 OTHER VERSE 

Whose vile misdeeds, for paltry pelf and gain, 
Brought ravage, wreck, and havoc's woeful train. 

'Twas thus, once more, the savage swarms uprose. 

By famed and cruel young Tecumseh led, 
And through the region of the northern lakes 

A ruthless war its desolation spread. 
By treachery and deep deceit, beguiled. 

To yield the weakened fort, in ambush fell 
The Dearborn garrison, and at the spot 

That's marked today by bronze, with horrid yell 
The red fiends dashed upon the helpless train. 
And crimson ran Chicago's sands again. 

With fury unrestrained the savage plied 

The blazing brand, the tomahawk and knife, 
And low in ashes fell the fane of Hope, 

Where somber hung the angry clouds of strife. 
But kind and gentle Peace returned, and now, 

From far across the seas, for Britain's arm 
Had erst been raised in harsh and allied might. 

With savages, to work the woeful harm. 

Again, and stronger, rose Fort Dearborn's walls, 
And progress lifted high its stately halls. 

But years there were of struggle, toil and wait ; 

Then, in its fullness, comes the mighty tide 
That sweeps away the wreckage of the past ; 

Upon its breast the ships of triumph ride ; 



OTHER VERSE 147 

On winged heel the god of commerce flies 
To where another western star has dawned 

Amid the union's galaxy, and here, 

As from a wave of his caducean wand, 

A gem within a gem, Chicago, gleams. 

As sparks that glint where brightest sunshine 
streams. 

Majestic as the mountains are, that stand 

In Titan ranks, snow-helmeted, and fold 
A cloak of cloud about their rugged forms ; 

Strong as a bannered army is, and bold 
As honor dares to be, Chicago grew ; 

Her name was heralded abroad as one 
Whose word is truth, and stronger than a bond ; 

And 'mong the greatest cities 'neath the sun 
She held exalted place. Hers was the way 
Of empire, and she strode with regal sway. 

Where Nature's God had most sublimely wrought ; 

In all the west a glory and a boast ; 
A regnant queen and radiant she stood. 

Her legions loyal and a hardy host. 
Her realm was Liberty's abiding place ; 

Upbuilt her altars were to God alone ; 
To freedom were her faithful people vowed ; 

Her rule was law, and right her only throne. 

Bright on her brow the star of Fortune beamed ; 
Full high advanced, her graceful banner stream 'd. 



148 OTHER VERSE 

'Twas thus that when the angry cloud of war 

Stood lurid in the sky, but ere it swept 
In raging storm across the troubled land, 

And from its breast red battle's lightning leapt, 
In fair Chicago's halls the council met 

That chose, to be the nation's head and guide, 
A gaunt and humble man, who, godlike, rose 

To highest deeds, and, martyred, meekly died. 
His harshest foe begrudges not his fame. 
And written high is Lincoln's deathless name. 

In blind and howling fury — as the sea. 

That, tempest-driven, beats its dragon wing 
Against the time-hewn cliffs and glaciered walls 

Of some bleak northern coast, and, bellowing, 
Roars its anger to the skies — so beat 

The storm of civil war, in lashing rage. 
Against the young republic's battlements, 

And shook the fabric, as when Titans wage 
Terrific strife, and in their wrestlings jolt 
The rock-ribbed hills as by a thunderbolt. 

Then to the fore, in eager, bristling lines, 

Chicago's steel-crowned columns swung along ; 

A great and grim array of fighting men. 
And singing freedom's ringing battle song. 

Before the red-breathed cannon's brazen mouth, 
That belched torn death in hot and hurtling shot ; 



OTHER VERSE 149 

Before the leaden hail of musketry, 

Onward they bravely bent, and faltered not, 

But faced war's smiting gusts and proudly sang 
A hymn of glory when the peace bells rang. 

But they, and all their armed comrades, met 

A gallant foe, full worthy of their steel. 
It was as in the valiant times of old. 

When Greek joined Greek ; for true were they, and 
leal— 
Those southern souls — to what they deemed the right, 
And nobly fought for cause, for home and hearth; 
'Twas Anglo-Saxon lustihood that clashed, 

'Mong men of equal nerve, and brawn, and birth. 
Long and relentless waged the awful strife, 
And rippling flowed the ruddy tide of life. 

Back to the peaceful callings they had left — 

When war was done — came, heartfully, the men 
That death had missed. Back to the forge and bench. 

The busy mart, the easel and the pen. 
The great and robust city grew apace. 

Beneath the smiles and promisings of peace ; 
Her people thrived, and hopeful were, as those 

That Jason led to seek "The Golden Fleece." 
•The world, admiring, watched her high emprise. 
And, wond'ring, saw her noble structures rise. 



150 OTHER VERSE 

Of rich success almost a decade passed, 

When fell disaster, red and roaring, came, 
And prone, Chicago, torn and ravaged, lay, 

Where stalked the monstrous monarch of the 
Flame. 
Along the fire despot's cindering march, 

And where beneath his white-hot, iron heel. 
Huge walls of steel and stone are crushed, his imps 
And myrmidons before him dance and reel, 
And hiss and scream in devilish, ribald play ; 
With blazing besoms sweeping homes away. 

In league with havoc, rush the wanton winds. 

That drive about destruction's burning rain, 
And shriek in hoarse discordance with the flames 

That screech like fiends infernal and insane. 
Till miles and miles of torrid fury boil ; 

A sea of hell upon the sodden earth ; 
A molten belt across the city lay. 

And glowing as Gehenna's candent hearth. 
Along the shores of this plutonic sea 
Howl packs of human wolves, in beastly glee 

In crumbling ruin lay Chicago's halls. 
Her temples and her monuments of art, 

The homes of rich and poor, of pure and vile. 
The palace and the hut, the merchant's mart ; 

Her churches, and the gilded dens of vice ; 



OTHER VERSE 151 

Her towers toppled and her facades razed ; 
A noble city crushed and overthrown ; 

Her people stunned and all the world amazed. 
In black and ashen wreck the work of years 
Had gone, and hope was almost drowned in tears. 

In high resolve and self-reliant mien, 

From out the smoking ruin, stanch and strong, 
Chicago's dauntless spirit rose again, 

And ere the embers cooled, her eager throng 
Of enterprising men were laying, deep. 

The firm foundations of her future state. 
Meanwhile, her sister cities helpful came. 

With gracious deeds the gods might emulate. 
Then mantled on her face a grateful glow. 
And bright as sunshine on the leveled snow. 

Great and majestic, grander than before ; 

In rare proportions lifted, chaste and strong, 
Chicago's palaces of trade and art. 

Exalted rose, a glory and a song. 
Her avenues and parks, her towered halls, 

Her cottages and courts, her princely homes. 
Her mills, her statues and her monuments. 

Her arched arcades and welkin-reaching domes — 

■ All these, and more, are pledges of her worth, 
As queen among the cities of the earth. 



152 OTHER VERSE 

Through every land and clime beneath the sun ; 

From torrid belt to where the frozen zones 
Engirt the earth, in fair Columbia's name, 

Chicago called, to subjects and to thrones, 
And craved that for a season they should come, 

To honor him who braved the unknown sea, 
And found a land where men have learned to know 

Their human rights, and knowing them are free ; 
To celebrate the time when fate unfurled 
Advancement's banner in the western world. 

Thus nations came and brought their handiwork ; 
Their wondrous arts, their learning and their 
thought ; 
Their ways, their manners and their mysteries. 

And with these sovereign states, they freely wrought 
To build the great White City, marvelous 

And grand, that as a vision came and went, 
Its dazzling beauty flashed in lucent light 
Upon the soul, and then with echo blent. 

'Twas there ! 'Tis gone ! It did not only seem, 
Yet now 'tis but a memory and a dream. 

Man stood surprised, bewildered and amazed, 
Amid the work that he himself had done ; 

Spellbound and marveling, in awe he gazed — 
Delighted yet — upon the victory won. 

The world was here, in every shade and phase ; 



OTHER VERSE 153 

Its substance and its symmetry ; and sight 
Had never met a fairer scene than that. 

'Twas beauty's arm thrust from a robe of light. 
Strong Science found sweet Poesy and wooed, 
And she his way with fragrant bloom bestrewed. 

Captive was nature made; for on the sands 

Sweet flowers bloomed, amid the verdant grass ; 
A forest on the plain arose, and deep 

Ran limpid waters where the dark morass 
Had reeked its vapors, foul, for centuries ; 

Great shining palaces sprang up, and gleamed 
In white and dazzling splendor, and the spray 

Of fountains, iridescent, flashed and beamed. 
Where erst the slimy snake and winking toad. 
By scum-hid pools, had held their foul abode. 

All ranks and races met ; the prince and clown 

In easy fellowship ; and here began. 
Amid the harmonies of art and skill, 

A new and better brotherhood of man. 
Religions, that have ever been at war — 

Of grim intolerance the type and seal — 
Conferred in cordial terms. All rivalry 

Was kind, and seemed to wish the common weal. 
Music and jangle, sounding side by side, 
By chisel, brush and pen were glorified. 



154 OTHER VERSE 

Chicago's nerve, her forcefulness and might, 

Her high ambition and her queenly grace, 
Were elements that guided all ; and thus 

She won clear title to the stately place 
That trial, triumph, weal and woe have wrought 

To test her worthiness. So she will stand, 
Through ages, strong and brave, true to the right, 

Hopeful and free, magnificent and grand. 

Oh ! Great Jehovah ! Guide her steps aright. 
And bless her way with wisdom's truest light. 



Songs of War and 
Peace 



Songs of War and 
Peace 



THE DOVE. 



'Twas a weary day of marching in the sun, 
'Neath a chafing weight of haversack and gun, 

And we heard the roar of fight, 

As we dragged into the night, 
Wicked, thirsty, hungry, dusty, gray and dun. 

Words were few, and barely muttered — 

Not a kindly one was uttered, 
But we halted, near the morning, in the dark, 
Where torn and tumbled heapings, black and 
stark. 

The awful driftings lay. 

Swept down from yesterday. 
Now, with the light, comes back the fight. 
And blaze and smoke shut out that sight. 

Mad clash, and clang, and rattle, 

The hum and roar of battle. 
And the swinging, and the ringing of cold steel, 
Men are dying 'neath the war-god's iron heel, 
The bullets whizz and spatter, whirr and whine, 



158 S02VGS OF WAR AND PEACE 

And the plunge of heavy shot 

Leaves its jagged, crimson blot, 
In places that are shredded, 'long the line. 

Now a high and swelling cheer, 

Sounds above the battle, clear, 
And the sweeping charge is victory's wild sign. 



In the quiet of a woodland, far away, 

I've been thinking of that dreadful battle day, 
And it comes to me again. 
With the oaths of fighting men. 

And the double roar of double war-array. 

Give me my sword ! Fall in ! Fall in ! — 
No, 'tis a dream, not battle's din — 

Far comes a soft, sweet song of love, 

The mate-call of the wooing dove. 



THE OTHER END OF WAR. 

When civil war was going on 

And all the neighbor boys had gone 

To fight, one side or t'other, 
I had a time to get away. 
For there was no one else to stay 

And do for my old mother. 



SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 159 

Besides, my sister and my wife 
Were dear to me as light and life, 

And cried, when I insisted 
That every healthy man should go 
To help his country, then, and so, 

One day I went and 'listed. 

For three long years, in march and fight, 
I did my share, as nearly right 

As God gave me to know it ; 
And if I hankered overmuch 
For home and loved ones, peace and such, 

I tried hard not to show it. 

I didn't know — for I was young — 
How cruelly their souls were wrung, 

In all that weary waiting — 
The pain of doubt, the tears and dread — 
And how their hearts from anguish bled, 

In prayers for war's abating. 

But lately I have learned to know 
The trials and the weight of woe 

That come to them who love us, 
When we are soldiers, gone afar, 
The playthings of the fiend of war, 

By all that's good above us. 



160 SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 

My son's a soldier 'cross the sea ; 
His wife and baby, they're with me, 

And blamed if I ain't thinkin' 
That wife and mother, sister too, 
Are worryin' the whole day through, 

And that keeps me a-blinkin'. 

They sigh and weep, and moan and pray, 
And look so anxious every day. 

That in their pain and sadness 
I see how women suffer most 
Of all the mighty human host 

That's lashed in war's red madness. 

So, in it all, I'd rather be 

A soldier at the front, you see, 

Than just an old back number. 
Whose heart is tender, though it's old. 
And never can, 'midst grief, be cold. 

Though cased in time-cracked lumber. 

And now I'd like to hear the drums 
That beat when Johnnie Soldier comes 

A' marchin' back from battle. 
As gray and limpy as I am, 
By hokey-poke and coffer-dam ! 

I'd make this old place rattle. 



SOATGS OF WAR AND PEACE 161 

BATTLE. 

A bugle-call — two quick, sharp notes — 

Commands the column : " Halt ! " 
To hearts that high ambition thrills, 

Leaps hope with sudden vault ; 
In hearts of men that duty rules. 

Stern resolution reigns ; 
In hearts that dread of danger thralls, 

The ruddy current wanes. 

A crackling 'long the skirmish line, 

A fringe of puffs of white, 
And here and there a reeling man, 

Gives earnest of the fight ; 
Now, loud and long, the bugles cry 

The " Forward ! Double quick ! " 
And, bending to the front, the men 

Push where the bullets flick. 

A flaming sheet ; a flash and crash, 

Along the rifle-pits 
That rib the sides of yonder slope, 

And now the welkin splits, 
When red-breathed, roaring, brazen guns, 

With hot and hurtling shot, 
Spurt shredded death amidst the ranks. 

That, cheering, falter not. 



162 SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 

For answer, bellowing within 

The charging column's wake, 
The light artillery salutes 

In thunderings that shake 
The clustered hills, and one deep roar 

Of battle has begun. 
Where rampant wrath has seized the earth, 

And blotted out the sun. 

Two jagged lines, in squirming knots, 

Stretched over hill and vale, 
Betwixt them stake the cloud-hid space, 

Where lead and iron hail 
Drives criss-cross, zigzag, scurrying. 

In screech, and hiss, and whine. 
Across that hell, like flying snakes 

Envenomed and malign. 

Deep in the dreadful din and strife, 

In fitful, hazy gleams, 
A well-beloved hope and guide, 

The battle banner streams ; 
As in the sea-storm mounts and falls 

The ship that rides the waves. 
So lifts and dips the battle flag 

Where war's red tempest raves. 

Now here before a galling gust. 
One brave battalion reels, 



SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 163 

A moment stunned and staggering — 

The color-sergeant kneels 
With them who are his banner's guard, 

But rising from the blow, 
To front he speeds, and lo ! the line 

Bends forward like a bow. 

A faint and feeble tenor shout 

Becomes a deep bass roar, 
And on the tumbling column sweeps 

As breakers strike the shore ; 
It batters 'gainst the line of works, 

Then dashes full amain, 
High over wall and ditch, and floods 

An open field again. 

The pressing line, with vantage flushed, 

Crowds grimly on the foe, 
That, stubborn, yields no inch not fought. 

But deals his blow for blow, 
Till from a raking enfilade, 

Of shrapnel, shell and shot. 
The bleeding remnant quits the field 

That pluck from valor got. 

The powder-clouds and sulph'rous stench 

Uplift and blow away, 
And side by side, in soldier sleep — 



164 SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 

And peace — lie Blue and Gray ; 
The saddened sun sinks red adown 

The western sky, and, lo ! 
The lightnings flash, to Love that lost, 

Another crash of woe. 



WAR. 

By blazing homes, through forests torn, 

And blackened harvest-fields. 
The grim and drunken god of war 

In frenzied fury reels. 

His breath — the sulph'rous stench of guns- 

That death and famine deals, 
And Pity, pleading, wounded, falls 

Beneath his steel-shod heels. 



THE ANGLO-SAXON WAY. 

High flies the flag of freedom, by Columbia 
unfurled. 

And gracefully 'tis draping in the breezes of the 
world ; 

Bright shines the gleaming galaxy of interlink- 
ing stars. 



SONGS OF IVAR AND PEACE 165 

While Stream in undulating waves its white and 
crimson bars. 

The true sons of America and Britain firmly 
hold 

The grasp of hearty friendliness, stronger far 
than bands of gold ; 

No more they meet as enemies, in grim and 
hostile ranks, 

But now as brethren of one blood, enlighten- 
ment's phalanx. 

They meet as freemen everywhere, and closer 
weave the bands 

That bind the kindred people of these our kin- 
dred lands ; 

And they sing the same rich music, that, swell- 
ing as the sea, 

Doth blend with grand " God Save the Queen," 
" My Country, 'Tis of Thee." 

All proudly praise the heroes that freedom's 
battle won, 

As British men of letters and statesmanship 
have done. 

In days of war and days of peace, in forum, field 
and home, 

Where'er the British drumbeat's heard, beneath 
the ether dome ; 



166 SONGS OF IVAI^ AND PEACE 

From eloquence of mighty Pitt, who gave fair 

Justice tongue, 
To praises of George Washington, that gifted 

Byron sung ; 
From Green, the great historian of Britain's rule 

and sway. 
To Cobden, Bright and Gladstone of her brilliant 

latter day ; 

With Macaulay and with Thackeray, and other 
mighty men, 

Who Albion's glory have enriched with miter, 
sword and pen ; 

Whose breadth and wealth of candor magnani- 
mously gave 

The meed of praise and honor to Columbia's 
true and brave. 

So let the nation's bells ring out, and all her 

banners wave, 
While freedom's light from freedom's sun the 

blessed land shall lave. 
And while the blended songs we sing shall 

drown the marplot's yells, 
Sound loud the cornets, roll the drums and ring 

the nation's bells. 

Fling out the flag that patriots have trusting 
followed when 



SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 167 

Dread battle's blight has tried the souls of truest, 

bravest men, 
And when, betimes, 'twas only seen within the 

rifting cloud 
Before whose storm of leaden hail War's sable 

plume has bowed. 

And while the bells are ringing, and joy is every, 
where ; 

While Harmony is singing two songs of single 
air. 

We'll praise the God of nations, and one undy- 
ing love. 

And bow in grateful thankfulness for blessings 
from above. 

And let us hope the pattern set by Anglo-Saxon 

sires. 
Who lit for all humanity sweet freedom's altar 

fires. 
May serve till all the nations shall stand beside 

us here, 
Unawed by any despot's rule, or aught to make 

them fear. 

Then higher yet the banner of Columbia shall 

fly, 

And brighter shine the gleaming stars, against 
its azure sky ; 



168 SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 

And yet more gracefully shall wave, its bars of 

red and white, 
An emblem and a talisman of perfect human 

right. 



BLUE AND GRAY ARE ONE. 

Hurrah for the north ! Hurrah for the south ! 

Hurrah for the east and the west ! 
The nation is one, undivided and free, 

And all of its sons are the best. 
Together the men of the whole blessed land 
Are firmly united in one mighty band. 
And they that were once the Blue and the Gray- 
Are gathered beneath dear Old Glory today, 

With men of both sides in command. 

Then march, boys, march ; we'll set fair Cuba 
free ! 

March, boys, march ; with Miles and Fitzhugh 
Lee. 

Forward, all the line! and be your song's re- 
frain : 

" America for freemen," and, " The flag with- 
out a stain ! " 

Hurrah for the blue ! Hurrah for the gray ! 
Hurrah for the sons of them all ! 



SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 169 

Together we come, and united we stand, 

To answer humanity's call ; 
Freemen arising, to dash down the foe ; 
Blue and gray dealing him death at each blow; 
Mingling a host from the north and the south, 
'Neath the same banner, and from every mouth 

One battle cry, " Freedom ! " shall go. 

Hurrah for the guns ! Hurrah for the ships ! 

Hurrah for the flag of the stars ! 
Hurrah for the men who fought under that ! 

Or under the stars and the bars ! 
They're rallying now, brave, ardent and strong. 
To punish injustice and overthrow wrong ; 
Columbia rises and leads in the fight, 
Her sons to do battle for honor and right, 

And they're singing America's song. 



ALL IN GRAY. 

'Twas nearly forty years ago — 
A long, long time away — 

That some of us were boys in blue 
And some were boys in gray. 

But at the end of many years. 
Along life's rugged way. 



170 SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 

The blue has mingled with the skies, 
And all are boys in gray. 

The true and brave of all the hosts, 

That wore the blue and gray, 
And fought for what they deemed the right, 

Are done with war today. 
The rosy, round-limbed Queen of Peace 

Has broken war's array ; 
His hosts, disarmed, are silver-haired, 

And all are boys in gray. 



THE REGIMENTAL FLAG. 

There are tears, 

and cheers, 

dear comrades, 
For the flag that's called "Old Glory," 
When its folds, unfurled, are waving, 
And the pages of its story 
We are turning once again. 

They are light, 

and bright, 

the colors, 
That shine upon that banner. 

From northern lakes to southern gulf, 

From ocean to savanna, 

And across the western plain. 



SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE lYl 

One that's worn, 

and torn, 

and ribboned, 
We have followed, marching, singing. 
In the days of strong young manhood. 
And still those songs are ringing 
In the gray and grand old souls, 

Who, in life's 

hard strife, 

still trudging, 
Hold it dearest of all banners, 

For it led them, marching, fighting. 

Through sorrows and hosannahs, 

By the glory of its folds. 

So, with tears, 

and cheers, 

we greet it. 
And with songs of love and gladness. 
For the mem'ries clustered 'round it teem, 
With fondness and with sadness. 
And the lights and shades of days. 

That in youth, 

and truth, 

and trial, 
Made the tinting of life's manner, 
For we laughed and sang, and comrades died 
Around that brave old banner. 
In battle's blare and blaze. 



172 SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 

It was borne, 

and torn, 

in battle; 
Oft it rested by the fountains; 
On the dusty march it fluttered, 
And it waved upon the mountains, 
From many a rugged crag. 

Now the stars, 

and bars. 



In peace are grandly streaming. 
And mingled with the story. 
In freshest beauty beaming, 
Is the regimental flag. 



of "Glory" 



RHODA RAGLAND. 

'Twas the mornin' after Shiloh, 

'Way down in Tennessee, 
I was cruisin' 'round among the woods- 

A friend of mine and me, 
When I seed a little maiden 

Who was settin' on a gun, 
That was busted at the muzzle 

From the work that it had done. 

She had throwed a bit of banner 
Acrost her golden head, 



SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 173 

An' when I ast her for her name, 
She laughed and then she said, 
" My name is Rhoda Raglan', 

An' I'm waitin', don't you see, 

For pappy dear to come back here, 
Wif ' sompen good for me. 

*' We was livin' in the cabin, 

In the clarin' over thar, 
Where the little crick went rattlin' by 

So sparklin' an' so clar. 
But now the water's muddy. 

An' it's bloody, an' the banks 
Is trompled, an' my posies 

Is jest ruined by them Yanks. 

" Our cabin's full of hurted men. 

They groaned the worstest way — 
They was hurted in the battle 

With we'uns yesterday. 
An' ther arms an' legs a'bleedin'. 

It was sich er awful sight, 
I didn't sleep a little wink 

The livelong night, 

" So I've come, good Mr. Man, 
To wait for pappy here, 
My mother went away to God, 



174 SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 

Last winter was a year, 
An' we was livin' all alone 

In the cabin over thar, 
An' why he don't cx)me back to me 

I think it's monst'ous quar." 

She was a pooty five-year-old, 

With eyes of deepest blue, 
An' flossy curls an' dimpled cheeks, 

With roses in 'em too. 
I had some little kids at home, 

Just like this battle waif, 
And now I thanked the Lord above 

That they were well and safe. 

A minie ball had pierced my arm, 

That lay now in a sling ; 
The hurt was just a flesh-cut. 

An' the pain a smartish sting. 
But I had got it fairly. 

An' well enough I knew, 
The helpless arm would take me home 

Within a day or two. 

So I plead with Rhoda Raglan' 

To go along with me, 
An' maybe we would find her pap 

Somewhar in Tennessee. 



SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 175 

An' yit I know'd her father 

Was away beyond Hfe's ills, 
So I tuck her to Kentucky 

To my home among the hills. 

We raised her jest as good an' true, 

As ef she'd been our own, 
Blood of mine and mother's, 

And bone of our bone, 
An' she's been as good a daughter 

As any of the three. 
An' a blessing to my homestead, 

An' to mother an' to me. 

She's thirty-six, or thereabouts, 

I can't exactly tell — 
But she married in the neighborhood, 

And married monstrous well ; 
An' she's got a little daughter. 

That prattles at my knee. 
An' 'minds me heaps of Rhoda, 

Down at Shiloh — don't you see ? 



176 SOJVCS OF WAR AND PEACE 

"LE REVE." 

Sleep, ah sleep, ye brave, and listen, 

In your dreams to battle's hum ; 
See the foeman's armor glisten ; 

Hear the bugle-note and drum. 
Heads that rest on unslung knapsacks, 

'Neath your blankets and the night, 
Close beside the bristling gunstacks, 

Dream of morrow and the fight. 

From the cottage homes or manors, 

Whence ye came, a nation's pride, 
Prayers are rising for your banners. 

And that weal may them betide. 
'Twixt the hearthstone and the bivouac, 

Love is whisp'ring words of cheer ; 
*Tv»rixt the pillow and the knapsack, 

Love, in dreams, brings lovers near. 

When those heads are white with glory, 

When the shadows from the west 
Lengthen as ye tell your story, 

In the vet'ran's ward of rest. 
May no ingrate's word of sneering 

Reach one heart of all the brave, 
But may honor, praise and cheering 

Guard old valor to the grave. 



SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 177 

DAUGHTERS OF AMERICA. 

Ring out, ye bells, your sweetest chimes ; 
Sing, all ye poets, dulcet rhymes ; 
Shout loud, ye crowds, in strongest praise ; 
Shine out, fair sun, in softest rays. 

And dance, ye rippling waters. 
For Freedom's sons will sing a song, 
That in a chorus, high and strong, 
Shall sounding ring, from sea to sea. 
Whose grandest harmony shall be, 

America's true daughters. 

Oh, they are loyal, brave and true, 
And fair the red, and white and blue. 
That in the nation's colors rise, 
Shine in their cheeks and brows and eyes 

And glow upon their banners. 
From ocean shore to mountain crest ; 
From north and south and east and west ; 
From all the bright and beauteous land, 
They come, a blessing-laden band, 

And singing sweet hosannahs. 

With cheering words from such a mouth 
As thine, oh daughter of the south ! 
And love from such a loyal breast 
As thine, oh daughter of the west ! 



178 SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 

The sons can never falter. 
And while in north and east shall stand 
The loyal, helping, sister band, 
Sweet Freedom's day shall know no night, 
But ever shall the flame glow bright 

Upon the country's altar. 



A SONG OF PEACE. 

Silver white, a cloud is drifting. 

In the nation's radiant sky; 
Through it lucent beams are rifting. 

Where '^Old Glory's" colors fly. 
From that throne of blessed Freedom, 

Comes a song should never cease; 
Rolling on, a great Te Deum ; 

'Tis the mighty song of Peace ; 

'Tis the dulcet song of Peace. 

Kneels the war-god, calm and humble, 
'Fore the dazzling hosts that sing 

Anthems hushing battle's rumble ; 
Songs that down from heaven ring; 

Waving there the snow-white banner, 
Robed in Honor's spotless fleece ; 

Seraphs chant the sweet hosannah ; 



SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE l79 

Sing the antiphon of Peace ; 
Chant the psalmody of Peace. 

Oh, the sorrow and the glory, 
That the swelling anthem tells ! 

Battles won and war's red story, 
Roaring guns and ringing bells ; 

Tears that flow for heroes martyred. 
Winning Fame's unending lease ; 

Lives for country's honor bartered, 
And the blessed song of Peace 
And the joyous song of Peace. 



A SONG OF THANKSGIVING. 

God of the nations ; Lord of all ; 

Father of Love and Peace ; 
With swelling hearts and singing souls, 

And gratitude's increase. 
We, lovers of this blessed land, 

Thank Thee, the only King 
To whom a freeman bends the knee, 

And joyously we sing 
Thy praises, till Columbia's skies 

With high hosannahs ring : 
The King ! The King ! 
Blest be the freeman's King ! 



180 SONGS OF IVAR AND PEACE 

From peace, through battle Thou hast led, 

And with " Good-will to men," 
The snow-white banner drapes beside 

" Old Glory's" folds again. 
Now North and South, of this fair land, 

Are welded in the blaze 
Of war's red furnace, closer yet, 

And, as in olden days, 
The music of the Union rings 

To Freedom's God, in praise : 
The King! The King! 
Blest be the freeman's King ! 



"OLD GLORY." 

See in the banner's splendor, bright 
The crimson, white and blue unite. 
And 'mong the undulating bars 
Gleam, honor's light, the twinkling stars, 
Till blest to sight and pure as gold, 
The flag, " Old Glory," is unrolled. 

O'er all the land, on every sea. 
Floats high this ensign of the free, 
And guided by its lambent light. 
Our young republic, in the right. 
Leads ever onward, stern arrayed, 
And wielding Freedom's battle-blade. 



Negro Dialect 
Verses 



Negro Dialect Verses 



IN THE FALL OF THE YEAR. 

De leaves is sorter turnin' 

On de sycamo' trees ; 
Dar's a quar kind er feelin' 

In de cool mawnin' breeze ; 
De worl' is lookin' dreamy, 

An' somehow it 'pear 
Dat de sunbeams is sifted, 

In de fall of de year. 

Hit seem as ef dey's shinin' 

In a shimmer sort er way, 
Dat could sing er song er sorrow, 

To'des de eendin' o' de day, 
Wid music lak de dove make, 

When settin' dar in fear 
She gwine to lose her true-love, 

In de fall of de year. 

You mighty glad you livin', 
An' you takes er heap er res' ; 

De worl' is kind an' gentle, 
An* you looks to'des de wes'. 



184 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

Whar de golden sun's er sinkin*, 
An' you doan sorter keer ; 

You waits for whut is comin', 
In de fall of de year. 

You knows, a little later, 

Mistuh Fros' he gwine to come 
An' candy dem persimmons, 

Whut you gwine to gather some, 
While de possum is er fat'nin', 

An' you meks dat 'simmon beer, 
For to drink wid dat ole possum. 

In de fall of de year. 

When de woods is look de fines* 

In gold, an' green, an red, 
An' de apples is er tumblin' 

F'um de limbs overhead, 
Dey's a tender sort er feelin', 

Lak er crowdin' back a tear, 
An' dar's somebody missin' 

In de fall of de year. 

You does a heap er thinkin*. 
Of de times dat done is pas', 

De spring an' de summer-time, 
Dat went so mighty fas' ; 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 185 

De mawnin' of yo' chilehood, 

When happiness was here, 
An' you never thought to bother 

'Bout de fall of de year. 

Hit's gittin' to'des de evenin', 

When you teks to lookin' back, 
An' de load is gittin' heavy 

Whut you useter love to pack ; 
When de sun is shinin' slantin', 

An' sorrow seem a'near, 
Lak de song of dove a'mournin', 

In de fall of de year. 



ROSIE'S SUNDAY CLOTHES. 

Um er talkin' mighty proper, 

Whut um talkin' to you now ; 
You gwine to 'gree wid all I say, 

Er win' up in a row, 
Kase um tellin' to you, sassy, 

Dat dey ain' no gal lak Rose, 
When she blossom Sunday mawnin' 

In her go-to-meetin' clo'se. 

Rose, Rose, my sweet Rose ! 
Ain' she a stunner 



186 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

In her goto-meetin' clo'se 

'Deed she is a posie, 
As evah niggah knows, 

My pansie, posie, Rosie, 
In her go-to-meetin' clo'se. 

I goes wid her to meetin' 

Evah Sunday mawnin', she', 
Fur dey ain' no other niggah 

Nomernated fur her beau ; 
Dey knows of my dejections. 

An' dey Stan's erlong in rows. 
Mighty 'spectful to dat lady, 

In her go-to-meetin' clo'se. 

I would kyarve a coon in slices. 

An' jes' feed him to de crows, 
Ef I evah cotch him winkin' 

At mer brown manila Rose, 
An' dey ain' no niggah livin', 

In de house, er outen do's, 
'Ceptin' dis, dat's gwine to swing her, 

In her go-to-meetin' clo'se. 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 3 87 

IF I COULD LIVE AS LONG AS 
METHUSALUM. 

If I could live just as long as old Methusalum, 
Him dat used to live out towards old Jerusalum, 
Mebbe I wouldn' sorter wheedle an' bamboozlum, 
Oh, no, sinner man. 

I wouldn' be bothered 'bout when will de king- 
dom come ; 

Dey couldn' skeer me wid de roll of de battle 
drum ; 

'Deed I wouldn' keer a cent for de whole blame 
capoodlelum, 

Oh, no, sinner man. 

If I could live just as long as old Methusalam, 
I'd sing you a song about old Mister Abraham, 
An' I wouldn' be a day widout de possum an' de 
yaller yam. 

Oh, no, sinner man. 

I'd take a little journey away out to Amsterdam, 

Roll aroun' de worl', an' live on de berry jam ; 

An' I wouldn' do a thing but mash ev'ry cuUud 

lam', 

Oh, no, sinner man. 



188 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

If I could live just as long as old Methusaloo, 
What do you think that I would sorter try to do ? 
Do everybody, an' hoodoo de Spanish, too. 
Oh, no, sinner man. 

I wouldn' go a'soldierin* an' fightin* like a zoo- 
zoo; 

An' I wouldn' be a black cat, an' lookin' like a 
hoo-hoo, 

But I'd be so mighty good an' old, dey couldn' 
call me too new. 

Oh, no, sinner man. 



THERE'S NO LITTLE COON LIKE 
MINE. 

Run here, mer pickaninny, 
Doan yo' heah yo' mammy callin' ? 

De sun am er sinkin' 
An' de shadders is er crawlin' 
Way f'um de thicket, an' old man B'ar 

Is er hidin' an' er waitin' 
Fur to cotch yo' dar. 
Yo' daddy's gone er huntin*, 

En he tuck dat sack, 
So I speck he bring some chickin' 

When he come er trottin' back. 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 189 

There's no little coon like mine ; 

Jes' see how he face do shine ; 
Come rockaby, mer tiny, 
Yo' mammy's pickaninny ; 

There's no little coon like mine. 

Rockaby, mer baby, 
Ain' yo' nevah gwine a'sleepin' ? 

De win' am er howlin', 
An' de ghos'es is er creepin' 
Down th'oo de flue, an' de blue-gum man 

Is er waitin' fur to bite um, 
Ez sho ez he can. 
Yo' daddy is a'comin'. 

An' de way he walk 
He's er totin' watah-millions 

An' de shugar-caney stalk. 

Mammy is er rockin' 
Of her baby, an' er singin', 

De ole owl's er hootin'. 
An' de yuther birds is wingin' 
'Way to dar nestes, up de high tree, 

An' de cawn-pone's in de oven 
Fur daddy an' me. 
Yo' daddy's mighty handy 

'Roun' er chicken roos', 
An' he got a tas'e fur pullet, 

An' he doan despise a goose. 



190 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

CAWN-PONE AN' GREENS. 

Dey talks about dar eatin', 

Dar salids, j'ints, an' sich, 
An' all de fixin's dat becomes 

De tables of de rich ; 
I 'low de high-tone doin's, 

Dat comes widin dar means, 
Is monst'ous good, but gimme, please 

Some hot cawn-pone an' greens. 

Cawn-pone an' turnup greens ! 

Hear me, whut I say? 
Bile de greens wid hawg-jole, 

An' dar I wanter stay, 
Jis' wid my Lawd an' Marster, 

Contented an' alone, 
'Longside dat meat an' turnup-greens. 

An' shortened hot cawn-pone. 

Mos' coons is gone on possum ; 

I likes him mighty well, 
An' I likes a watah-million, 

Heap mo' dan I kin tell ; 
But I 'clar to Gracious Goodness, 

Mer feelin's mostly leans 
To'des whut yo' hear me hollerin', 

Dat's hot cawn-pone an' greens. 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 191 

YOU KIN NEVAH MAKE A WHITE 
MAN FROM A COON. 

I've seed 'em try to do it, sence the day dat I 

was born, 
An' ef dey keeps er tryin' tell Ole Gabr'el blow 

his horn, 
Dey's nevah gwine to reach it, tell a cannon hits 

de moon, 
An' dat is tryin' fur to make a white man from 

a coon. 

You kin nevah make a white man from a coon, 
No mo' dan go to heaven in a b'loon. 

You hear me what I say. 

En I'll prove it any day, 
You kin nevah make a white man from a coon. 

De coon he love spring chicken, an' he'll get de 

fus' one, sho ; 
De early watah-million gwine to reach him long 

befo' 
De white folks know hit's comin', and he nevah 

minds de price. 
He gwine to git dat eatin' sho' as seven's in de 

dice. 

De white man he's contented for to w'ar some 
quiet clothes ; 



192 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

De coon he wants his garments, from his head 

clean to his toes, 
To talk out loud in meetin', and jis' holler when 

he come 
To beat de ban' er music, wid de bugles and de 

drum. 

De white man hunt de shadow when de sun is 

brilein' hot, 
De coon he love de sunshine, and he'd ruther 

sleep dan not 
Wid his darkey face er shinin' fum de glory of 

de sky, 
VVhilse de skeeters sings eroun' him, hush-a^by, 

mer baby, bye. 



HIS BRACER IN THE MORNING 

Dey's a monst'ous sight er trouble 

On de ole man's mine', 
Wid 'leben colts to curry, 

An' work of ev'ry kine'. 
En I has to whoop an' hustle, 

Long fo' de light er day, 
Kase it make de ole man bustle — 

You hear me whut I say — 
Fur to worry th'oo de bizniss, 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 193 

Afo* de day is dawnin' 
An* mix an' fix de cocktail 
Fo* marster in de mawnin'. 

Dar's nuffin' gwine to budge him 

F'um de ole arm char, 
Tell de cocktail am er comin', 

Kase he jis' dat mighty quar 
Dat he sho'ly ain' er fittin' 

Fur nuffin' all de day, 
Tell de cocktail I is gittin* 

Is gone de proper way. 
Den he laugh away all trouble, 

De bother he is scawnin', 
When he lay dat big foundation 

Wid his cocktail in de mawnin'. 

You kin talk about de julips, 

An' de whisky toddy, too, 
An' de apple-jack an' honey. 

An' de good ole mountin' dew, 
But dar's nuffin' gwine ter fix him 

For de juties of de day. 
An' nuffin' gwine to comfort him, 

An' drive de blues away, 
Lak dat whut I is talk erbout — 

You hear my gentle warnin', 
Dey's nuffin' dat so lif him up 

As a cocktail in de mawnin'. 



194 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

He jes as good an' kine' er man 

As any evah seed, 
En he gwineter holp de neighbor po' 

Whenevah dey's in need, 
But here's a niggah talkin' straight : 

I wouldn' stay erbout 
Ef de 'gredients of dem cocktails 

At marster's should give out ; 
I'd ring er bell, er blow er hawn, 

To give de people warnin' 
Ef marster evah miss one time, 

Dat cocktail in de mawnin'. 



I'M A KING AN' I WARS DE CROWN. 

I'm a high-tone coon an' a king, 
Jis de warmest kind of a thing. 

I'm a velvet man, an' de black-an'-tan 
Dey prances along when I sing. 
Yes, I'm known as de cullud boss. 
Mighty dangerous when I'm cross ; 

I leads de style for mo' dan a mile ; 
I'm killin' as a late June fros'. 

CHORUS : 

Evah yaller gal in town, 
Dat sees me coming down. 

She say: "Dat's him. Don't he look trim .? " 
I'm a king an' I w'ars de crown. 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 1©5 

I'm de swiftest thing on de pike, 
Kase I rides de swellest bike, 

De tandem kind, wid a gal on behind, 
An' we leads evah thing we strike. 
I'm de sassiest sort of a coon — 
De worst dis side of de moon. 

I shimmers along, a'singin' a song, 
To de music of dis here tune. 

I'm de only one of de kind 

Dat de black folks evah could find ; 

I'm red-hot game, an' I'm known to fame, 
Kase I nevah was left behind. 
Dey wants me on de gin'ral's staff, 
An' dey howls for my photograph ; 

When I blows in view, on de avenue, 
I'm ahead three mile and a half. 

I'm de dudest coon of 'em all, 
An* de beau-i-deal of de ball ; 

I'm de ladies' pet, of de cullud set. 
An' de model for spring and fall. 
I'm de head of de high degree. 
An' de fruit on de 'simmon tree ; 

I goes wid a vim, kase I'm in de swim, 
An' about de whole thing is me. 



196 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

ALL DAY ON LAWD'S DAY. 

Oh dey do tell me dat away ovah dar, 

All day on de Lawd's day, 
De gates of Heaven is wide ajar 

All day on de Lawd's day. 
An' when de sinnah leave dis place, 

All day on de Lawd's day. 
His soul goes up to de throne of grace 

Dat day on de Lawd's day. 

CHORUS : 

Den I want to die on de Lawd's day, 

Don't you hear me 'clar .? 
I want to die on de Lawd's day 

When de gates of Heaven is ajar. 

Ole miss she rid de Jordan wave, 

All day on de Lawd's day, 
De doctors tried her life to save. 

All day on de Lawd's day. 
She rid ontil de sun went down. 

All day on de Lawd's day. 
Den her soul broke loost and won de crown, 

Dat day on de Lawd's day, 

Ole marster 'rastled too, one day, 
All day on de Lawd's day, 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 197 

Trying on dis earth to stay, 

All day on de Lawd's day. 
He 'rastled till dem stars arose, 

All day on de Lawd's day. 
An' when he got dar dem gates was close', 

Dat day on de Lawd's day. 



HOW EPHUM WON A GUN. 

Dat muskit kicked me th'oo de fence, 
En' I ain' got my bref good sense. 
Say, daddy, woan' you tell yo' son 
Whar in de worl' you got dat gun ? 

I got it in de waugh, you dunce, 
Ez Ise tole you mo' dan once. 
How many times mus* dat be said 
To git hit th'oo yo' kinky head '^. 

Laws, daddy ! 'clar I didn' know 
Dat you wuz in de waugh befo', 
I wisht you'd tell me all about 
How you got in an' den got out. 

I wuzn't in de waugh befo' ; 
I went wid my young marster, Joe. 
En when Marse Joe wuz in de line 
In co'se I allers rid behin'. 



198 N'EGKO DIALECT VERSES 

But when de battle it begun, 
I stayed dar wid him — hear me, mun ? 
I stayed dar totein' all de truck. 
An* Marster say I bring him luck. 

Den one day, when de line wuz pressed, 
I hid er skillit on my breast, 
En run some stovepipe up my legs 
To keep de bullets from dem pegs. 

Den me an' young Marse Joe, we fit, 
En we would ben'er fightin' yit. 
But jis' ez we had tuck er gun 
Marse Lee, he say, de waugh wuz done. 

So Gin'l Grant he tuck us all. 
En pooty soon I heerd him call : 
" You, Ephum Jones, come heah to me ! 
I sees you hidin' hin' dat tree." 

So I goes up, a'trimlin' so, 
Dat skillit fall an' mash my toe ; 
An' Gin'l Grant he say to me, 
" You's fight'nis coon I evah did see." 

En den he say — right fo' Marse Joe — 
" You'll git a penshin for dat toe." 
Still I ain' nevah seed it yit. 
But dat's kase of de side I fit. 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 199 

But Marse Grant gimme dis yer gun, 
En say dat it I'd fa'rly won ; 
" You keep it, Ephum, fo' yo'se'f." 
I thanked him, en he bowed an lef. 

Dat's how I got dat good ole gun, 
En lemme tell you whut, mer son, 
Ef you'd jis load her wid mo' sense 
She wouldn' kick you thoo de fence. 



SANDY'S SUNDAY SHIRT. 

I'se got a Sunday shirt, 

An' it look so mighty peart. 
My Julie gal she hang it on de do' 

All thoo de week-a-days, 

An' she do dat, so she says, 
For to 'form de folks as how we isn' po'. 

Oh ! de Sunday shirt is hanging on de do'; 
For to let de passin' people fully know, 

Dat de pussons livin' dar 

Is er doin' pooty fa'r. 
An' dey lacks a mighty heap of bein' po'. 

De place whar I hoi's out — 
You heah dis niggah shout — 



200 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

You kin always tell, for sartin an' for sho', 

Ef Julie gal's in town, 

Or anywhar aroun' 
By dat Sunday shirt a'hangin* on de do'. 



JAW-BONE TALK. 

Hen, she fit de chicken hawk ; 
Jaw-bone eat wid knife and fawk, 
So dem jaw-bone talkers talk, 
Whilse dem walkers walk de chalk. 

Talk jaw-bone, do go home. 
In come Jin wid 'er josey on. 

Alligator on a log 

Holdin' talk wid er high-back hog ; 

'Gator lip dat rivah fence, 

En I ain' seed dat ole hog sence. 

Cawn-pone in de fryin' pan, 
Look so good to er hawngry man. 
In dar wid de possum fat, 
I ca' stop en stan' all dat. 

Ole Jack Fros' er sassy man, 
Foolin' roun' in Dixie Ian*; 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 801 

Tek de white folks by de nose, 
Grab de niggah by de toes. 

Cotton seed an' cotton sowed, 
Rainy day an' cawn done hoed, 
Pusley growin' mighty fas', 
Down dar in de gyarden sass. 



"DEM SKEETERS." 

See dat ole skeeter buzzin' 'roun' ? 

He co'tein' sartin death. 
I'm layin' fur him, mighty low. 

An* soon I'll stop his breath. 
He dunno who he foolin' wid, 

But when I smash 'im down, 
Dat skeeter gwine to quit his trick 

Er buzzin', buzzin' 'roun'. 

Ker-bip ! He dodged me dat ar time, 

But he doan know no mo' 
Dan jis' to come er trapesin' back, 

An' den I'll git him sho'. 
Sizz-izz " — you hear his sassy song ? 

He done lit on my face ; 
Ker-bip ! He'll nevah sing no mo'; 

He done is run he race. 



802 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

Dem skeeters 'minds me, mighty heap, 

Er dese yar mortal fools 
Dat thinks dey's gwine to do erway 

Wid all de laws en rules. 
An' run things jis* to suit dey selves, 

En live high, every day ; 
Git all dey wants, an' do no work, 

An' hoot at givin' pay. 

Dey gwine to keep a pestrin' 'roun' 

Tell ev'ry chance has flew. 
An* Ole Starvation done is come 

An' smashed de hawngry crew. 
De man what works whar he belong, 

An' win his 'onis' way. 
Will I'arn how dat beats sizzin' 'roun' — 

You hear me say my say. 



TELL ME, HONEY. 

Wen ole Unc' Gabel done blow his bugle hawn, 

Tell me, tell me, honey. 
Will you meet me by de ribber, jes sho' as you 
is bawn } 

Tell me, tell me, honey 
Kase I won't cyar, ef you ain' dar, 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES . 203 

Fur de bias* on de bugle er de buzzin' in de air, 
No, mer honey true ; no, mer honey. 
Dat mek me say whut I do. 

Dat mek me say whut I do. 
An' whut I say is true, 
I ain' love nobody 'tall but you 
So dat mek me say whut I do. 

Dar ain' nobody I'se er lovin' but you, 

Dat's true, dat's true, honey. 
Fur you is sweeter dan de honey in de dew, 

Dat's true, dat's true, honey. 
You is mer life — a'mos' mer wife, 
Er I couldn' stan' de trouble, de worry an' de 
strife — 

No, mer honey true ; no, mer honey. 

Dat mek me say whut I do. 

Won't you come erlong wid me, bright shinin' 
eyes } 

Tell me, tell me, honey. 
Dem eyes dat shines lak di'monds in de skies. 

Tell me, tell me, honey. 
Down at yo* feet I begs, mer sweet, 
Take away de trouble an' mek life complete ; 

Do, mer honey true ; do, mer honey. 

Dat mek me say whut I do. 



204 NEGRO DIALEC7' VERSES 

FO' DEY SET DE DARKIES FREE. 

Dar's er monst'ous sight er difference, 

Jes' as sho* as you is bavvn, 
On de ole plantation farmin' 

'Mong de 'backer and de cawn. 
De days ain't lak dey useter wuz, 

Hit's plain ernuff to see, 
An' de change is mighty bindin' 

Sence dey set de darkies free. 

Dar's er fiel' dat's growed in saplin's, 

Whar jis' many of a day 
We'se hilt de plow and worked de hoe, 

Lak hit wuz fines' play. 
De sassafrac has tuck it, en 

Dar's on'y you an' me 
To fight dem briar bushes, 

Sence dey set de darkies free. 

We has got er heap er freedom. 

But de shugar's mighty skase, 
An' de birds doan seem er singin', 

'Roun* de blessed ole home place 
As sweet as in de days back dar. 

Of plenty, work an' glee, 
Dat we kin re-commember 

Fo' dey set de darkies free. 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 205 

HARD TIMES GWINE AWAY. 

I gwine to wrop dese fish lines up 

An' leave dis fishin' hole. 
I gwine to throw dis bait-hawn 'way 

An' hide dis fishin' pole. 
Dar ain' no time fur fishin' now, 

Dat whistle done is blow, 
An' I gwine down to dat ole mill 

Ez fas' ez I kin go. 

" What fur ? " you axes, jes' ez if 

You doan' know nuffin' 't all 
'Bout how ole Hard Times gwine erway 

Whar he can't hurt we-all ; 
An' how de mill is start ergin, 

An Good Times he am come, 
To give us people lots er work 

An' make dem mill wheels hum. 

" How come ? " Well, you is monst'ous slow, 

Whar is you ben erway 
Dat you ain' hear de joyful news 

Dat come out here today .? 
De white folks, dey done fix things up 

An' all de signs is right. 
So bizness gwine to start ergin 

An' whoop up, out er sight. 



206 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

Dem 'lection times is ovah now, 

An' all de fuss is done ; 
Dey's done quit talkin' pol-er-tics 

An' gwine ter work, mer son. 
Dey tell me dat, t'roo-out der Ian' 

De mills is start once mo'. 
An' dat ole wolf is druv erway 

From sniffin' 'roun' de do'. 

You'll heah de 'scape pipe puffin' now, 

An' heah de stiddy noise 
Dat soun's when dat ole mill's at work, 

An' heah de singin' boys, 
All happy kase dey's got er chance 

To arn de things dey need 
To keep deir wives an' chillun warm 

An' give 'em fittin' feed. 

Dat's why I gwine to wrop dis line, 

An' leave dis fishin' hole, 
An' throw erway dis ole bait-hawn 

An' hide de fishin' pole. 
De whole worl' is lookin' brighter now. 

An' you is gwine ter see 
Some prosp'rous times, if you come on 

An' go ter work wid me. 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 207 

ZOE'S PLEA. 

'Deed Zo' was black, en me in love 

Wid dat dark, woolly lamb ; 
En now we's married good en strong 

En happy ez er clam. 
But bress yo' life, we had to go 

Clean outen owah station, 
All kase dat Zo', she up en say, 

Widout no hezmitation : 
" Ise live' ermung dese pasturs, mun, 

Sence I had re-collection, 
But I mus' move — dis blue grass doan' 

Match up wid my complexion." 



THE DINNER HORN. 

I 'members, honey, mighty well, , 

De good ole times dat's gone. 
When us darkeys useter stop de hoe 

To hear de dinnah hawn. 
Oh dat was sweetes' music 

'Bout de middle of de day — 
Dat soundin' of de ole cow hawn 

To call us all away, 

To call us all away 

To hot pone en hock-bone, 
Dat mek de darkey gay. 



208 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

rd lak to see dem times ergin, 

En hear de darkeys sing 
Whilse dey spun along de cotton row 

En make de hillsides ring. 
Down dar in good ole Dixie, 

Whar de dinnah hawn did blow, 
Down in de Ian' er cotton bolls 

To call us f um de hoe. 

To call us f'um de hoe. 

To hot pone en hock-bone, 
Dar's whar I wanter go. 

De drivah, he was sassy sho'. 
But dat was jes' his way, 

We was clothed an* fed an' sheltered, 
An' no cold an' hawngry day 

Could ketch us, in de sunny Souf, 
An' sho' as you is bawn 

Dar was plenty waitin' fur us when 
Ole Dinah blowed de hawn, 
Ole Dinah blowed de hawn, 

Fur hot pone, en hock-bone, 
En mustard, greens, en cawn. 

Dem lan's is monst'ous idle, now, 
We'se tickled wid de hoe, 

'Twell laughin' things was comin' so 
Dat you could see um grow. 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 209 

Aun' Dinah's up in Heben's res' 

An' all de darkeys gone 
To whar dey'll nevah hear no mo' 
Dat good ole dinnah hawn, 
Dat good ole dinnah hawn, 

Fur hot pone, an' hock-bone, 
Dem times is come en gone. 



MY ALABAMA ROSE. 

My honey love she's lovely, 

Lak roses on de vine ; 
Lawd love dat lovely lady 

What's a' dwellin' in my min'. 
Some roses dey is sweetes' 

When wet wid mawnin' dew, 
My yaller rose is sweetes' 

De livelong day all thoo. 

Den laugh an' shout an' sing, you niggahs, sing. 
An' dance an' prance an' mek de banjo ring ; 
Chune up dat fiddle mighty fine. 
Den walk de chalk an' toe de line. 

I gwine to sail an' sail away 

Thoo all de rollin' worl', 
Jes* seekin' out fur diemonts 



aiO NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

To deck my yaller pearl. 
When I come back, my honey, 

In dat sweet bye an' bye, 
Lak bees into de country. 

We'll tek up wings an' fly. 

We'll git er cabin. Rosy, 

Down by de rivah's side, 
An' you will be my honey 

An' my Alabama bride ; 
An' dar we'll live as happy 

As 'gators in de sloo, 
An' lovin' one ernother's jes' 

'Bout all we'll hatter do. 



RAMBO'S SERENADE. 

Mighty pooty gal down dar at owah house, 

En she ain't er gwine to stay ve'y long ; 
I'll steal to her do', jes' still ez er mouse, 

En sing her a mighty pooty song. 
I'll tell her in de song how I love her. 

En chune up de banjo sof en low, 
'Twell she think all de twinklin' stars above her 

Is jine in de chorus wid her beau. 



NEGRO DIALECT i^ERSES 211 

Oh, my honey love ! 
Oh, my turtle dove ! 

Doan you hear me plead ? 
Come, my lady love ; 
Come, my yaller dove ; 

You is what I need. 

De whippoorwill flutes down dar by de crick • 

De mock-bird's singin' his mate to sleep. 
En dar whar de woods is so black en thick 

De sof win' blows wid er sigh en er weep. 
Hit's a weepin' fur me, my honey so true, 

Kase I'se so sorry, en sick, en sad ; 
Yes, I is a'longin', mer lady, for you ; 

'Deed I is a' wantin' you so mighty bad. 

Ole day'U come er creepin' in now pooty soon — 

Come er creepin' f'um de hills over yan — 
He gwine drive away dat bright, shiny moon 

En spread out his glory in de Ian'. 
Den I goes back to work, en I toils all de day, 

Jes' er sighin' en er longin* fur you, 
So come out, mer lady, en min' what I say. 

Please er come out, mer lady, oh, do ! 

Dat pooty yaller gal gwine to come outen dar, 

En go 'long wid me to de ball 
Whar she gwine to be de belle an' de star, 

An' de swelles' thing of 'em all ; 



212 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

Den we gwine to dance 'twell de comin' of de day 
An' shy 'twell de shadder of de night, 

Den me an' de gal, we'se er gwine to scoot erway. 
By de light of de moonshine bright. 

Dat pooty yaller gal kin cut de pigeon-wing. 

En beat sich er chune on de flo', 
Dat de alligator pat, an' try fur to sing, 

'Twell he face open wide, lak er do'. 
En de ole gray mule, standin' down at de gate. 

He lif up his ears mighty high. 
En he lissen, en he 'low he mighty glad to wait,, 

'Twell de music is done roll by. 



LOO, JOHN. 

I looked acrost de ocean, 

An' I seed de waters flashin'; 
Oh Loo, John, oh Loo. 
Ole mist' and marst' er comin', 
Jis' er tarin' an' er slashin'; 
Oh Loo, John, oh Loo. 
Ole miss rid de black boss. 
En master rid de pony ; 

Oh Loo, John, oh Loo. 
Dat little bit er pony 

Whut dey call de Macaroni ; 
Oh Loo, John, oh Loo. 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 213 

Refrain : 

Oh Loo, John, oh Loo ; 

Whar is dat hole dat de hog got thoo ? 

I rid him 'roun' de mountin', 

Whilse de people wuz a'countin'; 
Oh Loo, John, oh Loo. 
His foot struck a rock, an* 
Hit jarred a loose a fountin'; 
Oh Loo, John, oh Loo. 
Den he flew to de eas', an' 
He flew acrost de mountin'; 
Oh Loo, John, oh Loo. 
Den he flew outen sight 

En we drunk f um de fountin'; 
Oh Loo, John, oh Loo. 



A 'POSSUM SONG. 

Jis* lissen, niggahs, lissen ; 

I'se gwine to sing er song ; 
Hit's gwine to be mos' monst'ous sweet. 

An' yit not monst'ous long. 
I'se gwine to sing er 'possum. 

An' some er Yaller Loo, 
An' mention dem big Georgy yams, 

Fur dey is yaller, too. 



214 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

Den hear me ; oh hear me, 

Chune de banjo high ; 
Fur me an' Loo is Hvin' 

Away up in de sky. 

Wen I comes in f'um liuntin', 

'An' brings dat file-tail beas', 
Dat Loo's de happyis' niggah gal, 

Sence Knee-bud-neezer's feas'. 
She tek ole Mistoo 'Possum, 

En git down awn her knees, 
An' fix him clean en wholesome. 

Den hang him up to freeze. 

Way 'long too-wads nex' evenin', 

'Bout early cannel light, 
You niggahs all come snoopin' roun' 

A'smellin' fur a bite, 
Kase Yaller Loo's done roas' im, 

Wid dem sweet, yaller yams. 
An' basted him, mer honeys, 

Wid de essence er de hams. 

You's monst'ous frien'ly wid me, 

Kase he's persuadin', sho'; 
But you has to smell him thoo de chinks, 

Fur I is shet de do'. 
When Loo and me's done wid 'im, 

An' cyarved him to de heart. 
Den tek he bones, en 'rastle 

Fur de lazy niggah 's part. 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 2U 

HEAR DEM NIGGAHS SINGIN'. 

I hear dem niggahs singin' 

De songs of long ago, 
An thoo my mem'ry's ringin* 
De tales I useter know — 
Ringin', ringin', 

Like de songs de birds is singin' 
Whilse aroun* dar nestes wingin', 
Dey is singin' sof an* low. 

Mah soul is weepin', sighin', 

Fur de times dat's come an' gone, 
When de niggahs wuz a viein' 
Wid one 'nuther 'mong de cawn, 
Pullin', haulin', 
Jes' er singin' an' er bawlin', 
Er 'raslin' an' er fallin' 
An' er wishin' fur de hawn. 

I'm monst'ous ole an' needy, 
An' trim'lin' on mah pins, 
An' I am prayin', yes, indeedy, 
Fur forgiveness fur mah sins. 
Prayin', prayin', 

Whilse de youngsters is er playin', 
An' axin' whilse I'm stayin* 
Fur de Lawd to let me in. 



216 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

Do hear dat banjo th'ummin' — 

Ef I wuz young ergin 
I lay I'd be ermong um 
En furgittin' 'bout all sin. 
Th'ummin', th'ummin', 
Jis' hear dat banjo hummin'- 
Say, niggahs, I'se a' comin'; 
Ole age ca' keep me in. 



SORRY FOR THE LORD. 

I'm gittin' sorry fur you, Lawd, 

Indeed an' trufe, I am ; 
De niggah wants so monst'ous much, 

Cep' Gilead an' de ba'm. 
Dey prays fur ev'rything dey needs, 

Dat work would bring 'em all, 
An' wants de fruit of all de 'arth, 

Jis' like befo' de fall. 

I heard one niggah prayin', Lawd, 

His very level bes', 
Fur Christmas time de whole year 'roun' 

An' all de time a res'; 
He axed to have de chicken roos' 

Down on de lowes' limb, 
An' turkeys jes' on top de fence, 

In easy reach er him. 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 217 

Come stately steppin', oh, good Lawd, 

Ton yo' lily-white steed, 
An' smash dem sassy niggahs down, 

An' bruise de sarpint's seed. 
Dey howls at you de livelong night. 

An' robs yo' of yo' sleep, 
'Kase dey's too lazy fur to sow, 

An' got no crap to reap. 



JUBE'S OLD YALLER DOG. 

I'se be'n a-trav'lin' thoo dis vale 

Nigh on to eighty years, 
An' now my eyes is 'gun to fail 

Wid weepin' bittah tears. 
My po* ole wife is goned above- 

De way I'se gwine to jog — 
An' all dat's left fur me to love 

Is dat ole yaller dog. 

My chillun's scattered here an' thar, 

An' wouldn' know me now, 
But we will pass de gates ajar. 

At jedgment day, I 'low. 
An' while I make de 'stressful rounds 

Thoo all de damp an' fog, 
Of dese yar wearisome low grounds, 

I'se got dat yaller dog. 



218 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

We'se hunted, many a livelong night, 

De 'possum an' de coon, 
An' cotch 'em by de silvah light 

Of many a southern moon. 
We'se built a blaze an' cooked de meat 

'Longside a big back-log, 
An' had some times mos' monst'ous sweet- 

Jis' me an' dat ole dog. 

An' long as I is stayin' here 

I'se got one frien', I know ; 
Ef I is po' de dog don't keer — 

His head don't run on show. 
An' 'long as I is got a bite 

Er hominy an' hog, 
I'se gwine to 'vide — you jis' is right — 

Wid dat ole yaller dog. 



OLD CATO'S CREED. 

I'se heard a monst'ous heap er talk 

'Bout th'ology an' creeds, 
But you hear me a'shoutin' now, 

Dar's nuthin' like good deeds. 
Jes' gimme sweet religion, please — 

I don't keer what's its name — ■ 
De Methodis' or Babtis' kind 

Will save you, jes' de same. 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 219 

I'm on my road to Heaven, sho', 

An' ain't got time to talk ; 
Ef you is gwine 'long wid me 

You's got to walk de chalk ; 
Ole Petah's standin' at de gate 

An' hit am wide ajar, 
But jes' a lettah f'um de church 

Won't take you in thoo dar. 

He gwineter ax you, mighty close, 

All 'bout yo' daily walk, 
An' ef you holp de neighbor po' 

Wid sompen else but talk ; 
He gwine to sarch you, thoo an' thoo, 

An' sho' as you is bawn, 
Ef you ain't right, you'll wish that Gabe 

Had nevah blowed his hawn. 

You'll see ole Mary shinin' dar, 

An' Paul an' Silas, too, 
An' Moses an' de other ones. 

De ship er Zion's crew ; 
An' nary one will have a creed 

Ascep' de chas'enin' rod. 
An' all will sing a " hallalu' " 

Aroun' de throne er God. 



220 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

SOME SINGIN'. 

Dey talked so mighty monst'ous much 

About de white folks' singin' 
Up in de big high-steeple chu'ch 

Hit sot my y'ears a-ringin'. 
So up I goes an' tuck a seat 

Jis' whar de sexton p'inted, 
As 'umble dar, at Jesus' feet, 

As any onann'inted. 

De ban' struck up, an' I declar' 

Hit nearly froze my livah. 
An' almos' raised my kinky ha'r 

An' made my marrer shivah. 
An' when de singin' started in, 

Away up in de gal'ry, 
Hit sounded like a cotton-gin 

A-screekin' fur a sal'ry. 

Dar warn't no soun' like " hallalu ! " 

An' " Jerdan's stormy rivah," 
" Char-i-o' swingin' low fur you," 

As evah I could 'skivah. 
Hit warn't de good, ole shoutin' songs 

We has at cullud preachin', 
Whar glory an' de love-feas' b'longs, 

Soul-sarchin' an' heart-reachin'. 



NEGRO DIALECT VERSES 221 

JULEY ANN. 

Some say I'se cross an' cranky, too, 

An' mebbe dat I am, 
I'se had enough to worry thoo 

To aggervate a lamb. 

I'se had nine chillun in my day, 

An' nary one is lef ; 
Dey all was tuck an' kyard away. 

An' I'm here by myse'f. 

Ole master died when I wuz grown, 

An' stated in his will, 
Dat I mus' be Miss Susie's own — 

Me an' de water-mill. 

My chillun, dey wuz lotted out — 

An' mind you, 'fo' dey's bawn, 
Fur I wuz healthy, strong and stout, 

An' sho' as las' year's cawn. 

De fus' wuz Tom, dey tuck him when 

He jis' wuz fo' year old. 
An' foll'rin' him wuz little Ben 

An' den my Jane wuz sold. 

An' Lu an' Bob and Tip an' Jim — 
An* Sam, my crippled son. 



222 lYEGRO DIALECT VERSES 

Dey even mosied off wid him, 
An' lef me nary one. 

Dem chillun's scattered ever'whar, 

An' dunno who dey is, 
But dey will know me ovah dar 

When jedgment's sun is riz. 

I may 'pear monst'ous cross an' ill, 
But Heaven knows I b'ar 

No spite, er hate, er 'vengeful will 
To block my way up dar. 



MAY 3 1905 



